#he was twisted into a demon by THE DEVIL HIMSELF | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jazjelspen · 2 months

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devil's spawn.

angel alastor w/ radio demon daughter reader

(notes: based off of the concept of my other story 'my angel baby' except alastor and his adopted daughter switch places and personalities. In Alastor's pov (?)in this chapter.)

(caution: RUSHED!! definitely rushed qwq so I greatly apologize. Not proofread in the slightest. Might have cringe parts am so sorriy qwq)

(Alastor is still in a way the angel version of 'the radio demon' except he's called 'the radio angel' by his fans, but he doesn't refer to himself as such since angel alastor is actually humble)

(I'm willing to make another part but considering Hs becoming more stressful and it blowing my brain up it'll definitely take time, but always willing to make more if wanted/needed)

It was another bright and fresh day in heaven, Alastor clinging the laundry up on the line while his mother, whom he managed to find in his decades inside the pearly gates, sat on a rocking chair reading a book as she usually would.

The bright heavenly lights making his halo shine, complimenting his wings, other neighborly 'winners' he would be acquainted with would walk by and greet him with a wave or a tip of their hats to him while he was outside fixing their clothes.

In this particular universe, Alastor is the complete opposite of his original counterpart. Where the original Alastor would hurt and destroy, this version of him would care and heal. He was selfless, kind, compassionate and sympathetic to which again is also a complete twist around compared his original self.

Alastor died out of an accidental kill, mistaken for a deer and shot through the head while he was out in the forest collecting his adoptive daughter's favorite flowers, at her favorite flower meadow on the day of her eighteenth birthday.

Unfortunately due to missing his baby girl's birthday and being taken away from her too soon for his liking he has been living in pure regret, panic, and pure sorrow form having to leave her too early and it pained him everyday.

He raised you all by himself while juggling his passion for radio hosting, finding comfort in your innocence and smiles when he first found you and as you grew up you gave him a reason to live and work.

That's the only thing that him and the original sadistic version Alastor have in common; the fatherly love for their daughters who are also their entire lives. Their love traverses across universes.

Eventually the more you grew up the more.. peculiar and unique you became.. your innocence would melt away with a sadistic fire in your eyes that he would notice at times but would try his best to lead you in the ways of love and compassion which you had for him but lacked for those around you..

Alastor was finishing up his morning chores for his mother's home before he would eventually go back inside and get a few necessities before leaving his home. His pearly coat, his shining microphone staff, fix his appearance in the mirror just a tad, and finally hugging his mother goodbye from the porch to head up and down the street towards the main part of the city.

Yes, he was still a radio host as well too.

Instead of broadcasting screams of pain and terror from sinners he instead would give voices to those who wished to express their passions, interview everyday folk and influential people on opinions and advice to those listening to his radio show and he even has good connections and acquaintances to the high Seraphims of heaven in order to get the latest news in the ruling of heaven.

He's just as famous as he was in life, maybe more considering how many people there are in heaven alone.

His polished shoes creating sounds on the pavement as he hummed a special tune that he adores, a tune he used to sing to you. Yet again still greeting passing by acquaintances and fans of his show with genuine glee and care.

Alastor waved off to an old friend while walking by, shining his taken cared for smile. "Good to see you again Roger, don't forget to tune in soon in a few hours! It'll be a real gas so don't miss i-- oh my!"

Alastor looked down as he seemed to bump into someone small, looking down at his feet he saw a young little girl. Another fellow 'winner' she seemed to have bumped into him with chocolate smeared around her mouth with a giddy yet apologetic smile on her face. And unfortunately smeared some chocolate on his pants.

"Hiya mister!" she waved, showing her dirtied little hand as well "Sorries! I didn't watch where I was going..!"

Alastor noticed the stain and his jaw hung slightly from surprise but then immediately laughed it off, petting the young girl on the head in understanding.

"Oh little one, don't worry about it at all! Here, so you can clean yourself up." He then took a white embroidered handkerchief for his chest pocket to give to the little girl who then wiped her face and her hands, seeing her struggle a bit Alastor graciously held her hands gently to wipe them off for her and her nose as well.

"Mary!" A voice exclaimed that approached, a woman than came into view, a winner as well. "Oh! Well if it isn't our most kind radio host! I deeply apologize about my daughter sir.." The mother would smile sheepishly and apologetically. "Thank you so much for helping my little girl, I apologize for her clumsiness! Could I perhaps offer you help of any kind?..”

Alastor shook his head as he would then neatly fold the handkerchief and saved it in his coat this time so that he could remember to wash it when he got back home. "Oh no no! No need ma'am, it's nothing a little magic can't cover up for the time being!" He smiled at the woman who now had her hands placed on her daughter's shoulders with a sigh slipping through her lips. He looked down at the girl as he gave her a pat on the head "On the other hand, are you okay dear? I do hope you didn't hit yourself too hard!.."

The little girl shook her head as well in reply, "Nu-uh mister! Thank you for helping me! I promise not to bump into anymore misters or any misseses!" Oh her messing up of words ringed a bell in his head

"How darling! Take care of yourself and your mother now, " He looked up at the woman to then lower his head slightly in respect before resuming his steps again "Apologies for the rush, just trying to see if I can get some special guests on my radio show tonight!"

The woman waved at him 'goodbye' with her young girl following suit "Oh I sure hope they agree! Good day to you Alastor!"

"Good day to you as well madame!" he waved back as he finally took enough steps away from them to now get a clearer view of the inside of the city.

He couldn't help but sigh in despair, he remembers when he used to have his own little girl.

Took care of her as if she was his own blood, as if they came form the same flesh and heritage.

And although you didn't, he never loved you any less.

His smile faltered slightly but picked it up quickly, rushing towards the next moving tram that he recognized to get to his destination: the middle of the city. Once he saw one and hopped on, he could feel his heart pump with blood he once had as red and now as gold as the tears of the elder angels.

If what he heard was right, he would try to get a segment with three special guests from hell.

Sure, he knew that they came from a place of bad and evil but that didn't deter him any less. From life to death he would give voices to everyone that needed to be heard and he would follow it no matter where someone came from.

The fresh breezes and the smell of bakeries, restaurants, the sounds of workers in mom and pop shops and independent growing businesses were like music. He could've sworn that even the laughter of children and the chattering of friends, couples, and families amongst each other turned into melodies in through his brain circuits.

Heaven was.. heaven.

But his only sin was not speaking out at heaven's hypocrisy or flaws at times. Many times he would but it turned into heaven setting restrictions on him.. silencing his own voice. He was never fond of that but apparently according to Sera and that blasphemous Adam, it was required. 'To avoid panic and prevent disturbances amongst the people of heaven' or so they'd say.

He was working on a way to go around that.. change their minds. But it was much harder than he anticipated.

Oh!-- The tram stopped with a loud hiss and ring.

Alastor snapped out of his thoughts would hop off the tram and finally start resuming his walk. He was now just a block away, the more he walked the less the voices and sounds of work distanced, entering a quieter part of the city. He was now in the smack middle of the entrance to heaven, where ice cream shops were laid in rows, cafes as well, people quietly chatting and drinking their beverages or eating their food.

Oh! And he could heard a familiar tune! It was that one.. welcome song that St. Peter would often sing..

Not a favorite song of his.. at all.. but he applauded them for effort!

Maybe a splash of swing or jazz would bring it to life.. but he assumed that was the old man in him talking.

For the time being he decided to watch some place nearby yet not too close since he knew that if he stayed where he was he would be caught up in the performance and he would have to sing with them..

Waiting at the side and hearing the singing come closer and close Alastor would make himself busy by polishing his microphone with his breathe and sleeve, fixing and dusting himself off as to not give any bad first impressions.

And thankfully he managed to remember his stain that the little girl left-- forgetting about it due to wanting to get to his destination on time and helping the poor thing. With a gentle swish of his staff pointed at the stained he then managed to cover it with his heaven-given magic.

Once the full group performance made his way towards his direction was when he stood up straight, chin high, shoulders fixed, looking good as always Alastor.

He heard Emily's voice among the performance, the youngest of the two Seraphims.

He's quite close with the two, at first only starting as something for business until one day he got closer to them and confessed his past, and his regrets.

Emily reminds him much of his daughter, the high angel having an enthusiasm and mentality of a late teenager or young woman, same age his daughter was when he last saw her.

He thought, wondered, pondered, dreamed-- what his little girl grew up into.

His eyes stared at his microphone, the shine of silver blinding him when he turned it for a spot of sunshine to burn his eyes slightly.

Did she grow up into an incredible woman? Did she ever find love? Settle down and have children? How has she matured? Does she resent him for leaving him so soon even if he never meant to? Does she look completely different? Did she ever change her name?

Were you even up here at all?

He hopes you were, looking and asking for you far and wide in heaven. Did you seclude yourself? Did you hide from him on purpose?

Or were you simply in hell..

No-- his little girl couldn't be in hell. Sure she had concerning hobbies, thoughts, ways of doing things but it didn't deserve her going to hell of all places.

You had to be up here, somewhere.. you had to.

A somber sigh escaped his lips as he stared at his reflection in the object between his palms and fingers. His heavy heart tugging and ripping itself apart.

'my little girl.. where are you?'

"Alastor!! Hey!"

A young voice shouted at him from afar, looking up he saw Emily wave and ushered him to head towards her way from afar.

He let go of his guilt for now, and shined his iconic smile as always.

"Why hello Emily, Sera," he lowered his head at the high angels in respect for them "How may I help you ladies today? I see we have new visitors!" His head moved to look at the other three ladies in front of him that came from below.

There was a young woman with eyes that shared the same enthusiasm as Emily's did, hair of sunshine and gold, fangs as sharp reminiscing those of a blood bat, small and thin frame and an outfit that successfully mimics casual sophistication.

Another young girl to her right was one that seemed more reminiscent of an angel, her long hair filled with silver and moon, a gaze as sharp as broken, stance serious and unapologetic, she seemed ready to protect the blonde girl beside her but also had eyes of worry and a sense of uncomfortability haunted her features and her almost slouched back.

The last one, really shook him up.

The next young woman to the left of the blonde girl was adorned in nothing but pure red with tones of a deep hot pink in her entire look. Her clothes were of an era he knew of very well, of course he'd recognize clothes from the 30s!.. except they had a few odd touches that more or so reminded him of the 40s or heck maybe even 50s.. a bit more ahead of his time. She had a large sharp smile that screamed of mischief and eyes that are waiting to do something-- anything sinister.

Despite all this, these characteristics weren’t the ones that shook him to his core.

She looked like someone he knew, that he missed.

"Everyone, this is Alastor. He's heaven's most famous and influential radio host! Giving voices to the voiceless when he was alive and even more up here, and of course due to his selfless acts when he was alive he was blessed to be let through the gates of heaven." spoke Sera, introducing the 'winner' as he chuckled sheepishly.

"Oh thank you Sera, but it's nothing really! Just had to do what was right."

Sera then lead his eyes back to the newcomers, having him face directly to the girl with hair of sunshine first. "Alastor, I present to you the Princess of Hell and heir to the throne, Charlie Morningstar. She's here to present a few ideas to the court the next day."

Alastor's eyes widened in surprise, "Princess! I didn't know royalty were to visit us today!" he bowed down towards the girl as to pay his respects, standing back straight once he finished. "A pleasure to meet you sweetheart quite the pleasure! Didn't expect our guests to be of royalty so apologies to any bad manners."

The princess shook her head with a large smile "Oh!-- don't worry you didn't give off any bad manners! It's nice to meet you too Mr...Alastor!.. it.. it's very admirable what you did before and what you do now! You seem to have earned your place here quite well!"

The man shook his head as well in reply "Oh like I said it's nothing! If anything I should thank my daughter, she was my reason and my motivation to be nothing but kind to others to present a good example! I continue to do so in her honor."

Charlie's eyes grew as a soft 'awwww' escaped her lips "You must love your daughter very much..!"

Alastor nodded, "Of course I do! As a father always should!"

Charlie opened her mouth again to speak, her eyes filled with a sense of bittersweetness until she was suddenly interrupted by the young woman dressed in red. She walked in between Alastor and Charlie with a sense of charm and enthusiasm, the spirit of a presenter or spokesperson shining in her body language and way of speaking.

"How delightful! The love of a parent transcends heaven and earth! Now that's poetry!" the girl's voice was glitched out and heavily amplified with a strong sound of static, as if her vocal cords came straight from a radio speaker. She held a staff much similar to his, except her's was shorter and more compact-able.

The girl with silver hair rolled her eyes in nothing but pure irritation, Charlie giggled nervously as she then pointed her way towards the one who spoke. "And this is ______! She's the founder and host of my hotel back in hell! She's helped me throughout everything and I dont think I would be able to get to this point if It weren't for her help as well!"

Ah,

He knew it.

______, anyone could have that name.

But you looked like his daughter, his pride and joy.

His face still shines with a smile but his eyes are baffled with the sudden hit of realization.

It couldn't be a coincidence-- you looked like her, your eyes had that spark he always used to see in his daughter before he left. The way of speaking, that stance-- more confident and mature but the way you spoke.. your vocals were a match to his daughter's just with a touch of years to it.

And you looked at him as if you knew as well, eyes narrowing with piqued interest. Sharp smile widening an-

wait..

what?..--

You seemed to have almost hopped right in front of him with your hand suddenly shaking his. "A real pleasure to meet you sir! Quite the pleasure!"

You mimicked his greeting yet somehow you spoke it so naturally, as if spoken a billion times before. He was stunned, if there weren't people around he would've slipped and broken down right here right now--

but he cannot, will not.

He will not worry others, he will not bother others with his emotions.

"Good to meet you Ms.."

"______. Simply call me ______." Your sinister grin only stretched, a sense of despair fell into the pit of his stomach,

His little girl in hell?

Did he.. fail at raising you?

Was dying too soon the reason why you let yourself fall?

Whatever the case, Alastor was nothing but stuck in a small limbo of his own guilt again

If he did this to you-- even indirectly,

he wouldn't ever forgive himself.

"Ms.. ______..."

'my little girl' he would've said, 'my daughter, how I've missed you. please forgive me for leaving you so soon... I'm so so sorry my darling..'

the words were stuck to his throat.

a small gust of air was the only thing that escaped from his cords.

Sera clapped her hands together once as a way to announce, "Well Princess Morningstar. I hope your stay here is nothing but comfortable, and I say that to your companions as well."

Sera looked at the 'winner' with confusion and a sense of concern but she knew she had to leave due to duties calling for her and Emily's presence.

Sera gently put her hand on his shoulder, "Alastor, would you perhaps show them where their hotel is and how to check in? It's going to be the one nearby."

'the one nearby' he thought, 'a block away.. '

"of course! anything to make our guests feel more welcomed!"

Sera nodded in 'thanks' before flying off with Emily on her side, herself also waving goodbye to all of you as well.

Alastor paused, before finally turning his head at the girls.

"Well, let's get you all to where you'll stay for the time being!.."

He will find out what happened to you, what went wrong, how he messed up.. he'll beg for forgiveness from you. for you were and still are his reason for who he is.

you were his one and only daughter, he will make it up to you.

"Follow me now! Time isn't going any slower!"

Little did he know, he wasn't at fault at all.

You were just born that way.

You knew what you were and you embraced it as a way to cope from him being taken away from you.

Of course you had to blend in and you took on the mantle of taking over your late father's radio show, eventually becoming as famous as he was and you were nothing but just as charming as he was on his show.

But then you killed, the power imbalance favoring you was nothing but amazing to you.

Years later, you enjoyed it. Killing was your life's purpose. Your crimes were never a subject for you to ever regret or feel guilt for.

You regret nothing.

You were a merciless killer then, and one now.

Through earth and hell, forevermore.

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linddzz · 5 months

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Latest idea floating around in my head: a twist on the Hob saving Morpheus from the time-out ball, except that's where they first met each other.

Hob's still immortal, it's just that Death was the one who came and gave him the deal of meeting every 100 years

(is this also bc I'd love Death being Hob's centennial buddy? Her being way less reserved and straight up telling him who she is. Her delight at his delighting over life. The rage in him when Eleanor and Robyn die. Death took them and she wouldn't even say anything to him when she did it. Also I'd like to see him just immediately choke and squirm like a bastard as soon as he starts explaining his new shipping business to her in 1789. Yes and hell yes gimme Hobsie and Death as bros.)

So Hob is trying out new stuff again. He's never tried out being a magus and gets himself in as a member of Burgess' order and eventually an acolyte.

And then he's introduced to the "devil" that Burgess keeps in the dungeon. He's to help study up on strengthening the wards around the sphere and all that. And boy is he deeply, super uncomfortable with the sight of this frail man trapped in a cage.

("Don't let his pretty face fool you." Burgess will tell him, "the thing is a demon who would destroy us all if given half a chance."

To be fair, Morpheus does not help his case at all and his expression clearly says "you fuckin bet I will")

And Hob is Hob. So while he's working on studying up on wards (which so happens to involve a lot of careful, detailed study of the wards around the sphere) he's chatting at the thing in it. He complains about the boss, talks about the War, tells the demon about his day while the demon either glares at him or makes a hilariously big show of not paying attention. Sometimes Hob straight up shirks work (with a winking "you won't tell the boss right?") And just reads books.

And he nearly shrieks in surprise when he's reading some new novel called The Hobbit out loud and looks up to find the demon watching and obviously interested. So of course Hob is gonna keep reading him stories and keep studying those binding spells super closely.

And ok that's where I gotta admit the story doesn't have a solid conclusion in my head yet (besides obviously Hob is gonna bust Dream out and then get kissed a LOT) but I do have one bit where Morpheus first talks to him and of course it's just cryptic weird shit. Because Morpheus has started watching this shit-wizard who won't shut the fuck up back and can tell that something is OFF about him.

So just imagine Hob is yammering away about how he thinks the masters kid and the gardener have something going on, and he nearly shits himself when the "demon" presses a hand against the glass and says

"Death has touched you. I see it now. My siblings marks upon you. Is that what you are here for? To report to them? To let them see how low their family has come? So they do know what has come of me then, and they have sent you to chatter away and truly make it clear that they will do nothing."

Hob's just like. "WHAT?? SIBLINGS?! You TALK??! Hang on you know Death???!" But Morpheus already is back to curling in on himself in a furious pissy sulk

#dreamling #fic cooking #i imagine after Dreams outburst theres a lot more talking going on #idk if i have this fleshed out enough to fully write i just liked the idea of Hob reading Tolkien to the thing in the ball #and Morpheus being wooed with stories #the tension is ruined by me knowing that all it took was smearing the circle kdjfkd #maybe Hob purposely falls asleep to let Morpheus get out via his dreams

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mammomlette · 15 days

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OBEY ME YOUNGER BROTHERS AS SOULMATE TROPES!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3(WIP rn)]

Includes: Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, GN!Reader/MC

Warnings: Spoilers for lesson 16 in Belphies (not explicitly said but obvious foreshadowing for a twist), implied manipulation (Belphies) (not sure if that needs a warning but better safe than sorry)

Notes: I’m still quite new to fanfics and Tumblr, and honestly just writing in my free time in general so constructive criticism is defo encouraged!! Also I won’t lie to you, Satan did seem a tad ooc erm…

SATAN: writing/drawings on hands appear on eachother

* As soon as you turned 18, you noticed small phrases and notes appearing on your right hand

* It started off with small things like “page 562” or “British shorthair.” Just things to keep as a reminder or to be able to search it up later

* However, as time went by, the notes became a bit more… concerning

* Concerning book quotes from old literature, sometimes in other languages, and nefarious plans to prank someone called ‘Lucifer’

* Your soulmate plans to prank the devil himself. Haha. What a great idea.

* You brushed it off for a while, appreciating the occasional cat fact or chapter reminder and just ignoring the angry words about Lucifer.

* Eventually, you began to build up the courage to respond. Small things relating to things your soulmate wrote, like cat doodles (good or bad as your art skill may be) or going over the writing of the reminder when you notice it started to fade

* Not knowing if it was your place to write down your own notes or just not quite having that amount of bravery, you still did those little things to let your soulmate know that hey, you’re there and you’re always reading what they have to say.

* Satan thought he was hallucinating.

* Thousands of years spent just jotting things down to remind himself of things at a later date, frequently on his hand, and suddenly things started to change?

* He had wrote “British shorthair” on his palm in hopes of being able to look it up later, and a few minutes later he looks down to his palm to search it up and sees a… cat?? It’s really not clear. It’s round, with two points on the top of its head… yeah thats a cat.

* He’s become so obsessed he’s hallucinating badly drawn cats, which is probably a cause for concern, so naturally he confides in his brothers about this and is comforted that no he’s not hallucinating, however cats are just randomly appearing on his hand.

* They continue to appear, circles with two triangles, some looking better than others and some with more odd features likes birthday hats or weird outfits

* He finally decided to read up on what could be happening and was quickly met with the term ‘soulmates’

* He had heard of this a long time ago from one of his brothers while he was still young (for a demon) and brushed it off as a fairy tale. Why had his soulmate only started communicating with his just now?

* He moved on eventually and time passed, a new human being introduced to his home and his family.

* It took an embarrassingly long time to realise that his human was also his soulmate, it wasn’t until you were both just chilling in his room and you were doodling something next to some words on your arm that he noticed a cat appearing on his own arm.

* “Look! The cat thing is happening!” He shouted, a lot more emotion out into it that he would’ve liked due to the sheer shock

* You stopped what you were doing and look at his arm, the cat drawing having ceased its being drawn while you stared at the cat, face turning into shock and then seriousness. Because that is the cat that you just drew.

* “Satan.” You said, just staring into his eyes without any expression

* “Yes, MC?” He responded, worried at your monotony. His mouth then gaped open and you showed him your arm, cat half doodled next to the words “page 236, sticky notes needed”

* You both just made dead eye contact for a second before your eyes both began to flick back and forth and your lips slowly started to quiver

* Both of your sweet laughters filled the room, how ironic that such a common book trope would be what flew under Satan’s nose for so long.

ASMODEUS: soulmate telepathy

* Ever since you turned 18, you had been hearing a voice in your head.

* Not necessarily in a concerning way! In the way it happens when you and your soulmate have both turned 18 and can finally communicate.

* At first, you thought that you were hearing things. Things like “Ooo, this would be a great touch to my outfit! ♡” and “Can’t believe my bath wasn’t 3 hours long today…” flooding your mind. Since when were you SO picky about your clothes and hygiene, even when not in the process of dressing or washing? And since when were your baths 3 hours?

* Quickly though, you realised that this voice wasn’t your own. It was a melodic sounding voice that felt like honey and most definitely did not belong to you.

* You had heard from your family growing up and your friends recently that once you had become an adult you would be able to communicate with your soulmate through your thoughts, proof of the bond your souls shared, thoughts intertwining together.

* You found that whenever you were deep in thought and rambling to yourself you’d be met with a “hon, slow down” in your mind or that whenever you were trying to figure out an outfit your soulmate would chime in to offer their expert advice without hesitation

* No hesitation at all, because Asmo had waited his entire life for this.

* Thousands of years of life believing that he had no soulmate, destined to forever be a player

* So long spent reading and gushing over cute romance stories where soulmate meet and finding comfort in romcoms about that very topic, and here he was finally with his own soulmate in his mind

* The way you would thank him for his advice before his mind went quiet from your thoughts again until you later told him how well everything went and the way you would ramble internally to him without even realising you were connected to his mind made his heart flutter, even without your face your voice and soul were beautiful

* One day he had been summoned alongside his brothers to the student council room to welcome the new human exchange student. It was a hassle that could be spent doing something more productive like his skincare or extra time in the bath, but he was still just so excited he had to tell you how excited he was to meet the new human!

* “New human?” You thought, but had no response from your soulmate before you appeared inside of a council room in front of 5 attractive strange men.

* You panicked and were kind of in autopilot mode as a tall man in all red introduced you to your situation and a slightly-less-tall man in black started to introduce you to his brothers

* You still had small responses in your shock, and a certain demon recognised your voice.

* You were immediately snapped out of autopilot when you heard the voice of the second brother you were introduced to, an admitted handsome man with slightly-pink-tinted light brown hair and stunning orangeish eyes said “Oh come now. Really? You should be that you get to introduce such a sweet and charming little brother like me!” And you froze.

* You looked like a deer in headlights to lucifer who was trying to introduce you to a blonde demon, but to Asmo, you looked like the most beautiful creature to ever walk the three realms (asides from himself, naturally) and the only person worthy of him.

* Asmo saw beauty in everyone, but everyone else paled in comparison to your face in this moment and your voice every other previous time he had heard it.

* He looked at you with knowing eyes and your eyes finally softened from your shocked face, finally understanding what he meant earlier by “new human”

* It would take time for you to get used to being in a new world with a demon as your soulmate, it would take time for him to get used to loving someone more intimately than as lust, but you both had eachother and the bond that ties your minds together and that’s all you needed.

BEELZEBUB: you share (some of) your soulmate’s pain

* It was growing unbearable.

* The slight yet constant ache in your stomach, a pit that was never quite full.

* For years you mistook it for your own hunger, not sure if you should be eating more or not

* It was always there, always something that disctracted you whenever you were left alone in silence or trying to sleep at night, always waiting for you to finish a meal just to make you feel that familiar ache again.

* It was just insufferable.

* It wasn’t just the hunger, though. There would be times where your muscles would ache like you had been working out without a proper cool down or your arms felt like they had bruised from defending or blocking against something

* You inquired with your friends about this and were just told that it would be your soulmate. You shared pain with your soulmate, and your soulmate always seemed in pain

* It wasn’t a pain that came from attacks or falling, just a pit that always felt so empty it hurt but could never be filled.

* Was your soulmate starving to death? You wished there was a way to help them, to soothe the pain, but without knowing who they are there was no way to fix it.

* As of present, you had been sent into the devildom a few weeks ago and had began to slowly feel adjusted to the devildom and your roommates and you had grown fond of one in particular: Beelzebub, the avatar of gluttony.

* You sympathised with him and his constant hunger since you yourself always felt a small bit of this hunger, even if you’d learnt by now that it wasn’t yours to fix

* So naturally, you hung a round him more

* You spent time with him whenever you could just because you wanted to, accompanying him to the gym or treating him to Hell’s Kitchen or even just sitting with him when he was lonely and missing his brother who had gone to the human world

* And it felt like every time you gave him the food you were craving so much, that pit in your stomach was filled just a bit

* Always there, never going away, but it felt just that bit more bearable and ignorable for a short while

* Who knew you were such an empath?

* Of course it crossed your mind of that Beel could be your soulmate, but what are the chances? You dismissed the thought whenever it appeared, not wanting to get your hopes up

* However, your hopes were validated one night in the kitchen with Beel.

* You were preparing him a small snack, just cutting up some devildom-style bread for him when you accidentally put your finger down at the wrong time in the wrong place and cut it

* You hissed at the pain, putting down the knife to look at your finger and you thought you heard Beel grunt.

* “MC, are you okay?” He inquired, approaching you to look at your finger while slightly cradling his own for some reason

* “Uh, yeah, I just need a plaster or something, would you mind..?” “Yeah, of course.” He continued to clutch his finger while reaching for the cabinet, letting go for a second to open it and grab you a plaster

* “Are you okay? You’re holding your finger too.” You were slightly worried by his mannerisms even though you didn’t see a cut on his fingers.

* “Yeah, my finger just hurt all of a sudden. It’s fine though. Here, I’ll put the plaster on for you.”

* You fell into comfortable silence as he opened the plaster and began pressing in down, but he pressed down a bit too hard which hurt you, causing both of you to hiss.

* “Seriously Beel, are you okay?” He nodded. “Yeah, it’s just like whenever you get hurt my finger hurts too.”

* Lightbulb. You realised finally that those slight considerations were valid and the connection you felt with Beel was real. The hunger you felt wasn’t yours and the reason it was numbed when you gave him food is because it was his.

* He seemed to have realised this too, because he paused and looked at you, slowly smiling.

* “MC, I just realised something. I think that-“ you cut him off with a kiss, smiling now too.

BELPHEGOR: you have a countdown until your soulmate’s death

* Surely there was an error in the system.

* Call you crazy but you didn’t quite think that 378,691,205,018 seconds is applicable to the human life span.

* You had come to the conclusion that your soulmate was either non-existent and the universe was fucking with you or they were some kind of non human entity and obviously both of these answers were stupid but at least the former was possible.

* You’d grown accepting overtime that you didn’t have a soulmate unlike how most of your friends did and that you’d never have that sort of unconditional love

* Not having a soulmate wasn’t unheard of, just uncommon.

* And you got the short end of the stick. That’s all there was to it.

* UNTIL you got randomly abducted one day into literal hell where pretty much all beings there loved for thousands of years.

* ‘Maybe I have a chance now?’ You crossed the thought out from your mind. First of all, these were demons and most of them had made attempts on your life at some point or another, and secondly almost all of them either a) didn’t have a timer, which meant no soulmate, b) had an insanely high timer that you’d never be able to reach or c) had already found their soulmate

* You sighed to yourself and began to lose hope again, walking up the stairs to the attic

* A short while ago, you had found a human locked in the attic, who had asked you to help him. You clicked, something in that moment just felt like it had been put in place like the final puzzle piece so you trusted him without really knowing why

* But you had even more recently found out from his brother that he was bulshitting you and that he was probably the demon Belphegor, so now you just wanted to figure out what was going on

* You continued to march up the stairs and finally arrived at the attic to confront him or at least question him

* “Are you Belphegor?” You cut to the chase not wanting to bother with any more of his lies.

* He was silent for a second before grinning, devilish look that you’d expect from the decent ruler or the underworld gleaming in his eyes as he said “Aww, so you’ve already figured me out, have you? Well, you’re no fun at all.”

* You glared, and tried to decide whether declaring he was a liar or asking why he was a liar would be a better idea

* But he spoke up again before you could decide.

* “That timer on your neck, what does it say?”

* You paused, not knowing the exact number. “Um, like, there’s hundred billion seconds-ish? Why?”

* “Because I’m a demon. I’m going to live long enough to fulfil that. Look at my timer, here. It has 13,140,014 seconds. No demon would live that short.”

* “And is thirteen million a lot of time?”

* “About a human lifespan, bit under.”

* You hummed. It made sense to you looking at it at the moment, though you could’ve sworn it was a little bit under your guess, you trusted him.

* Why? He lied to you about being a human, so why do you trust him?

* Because he’s your soulmate. There’s no doubt in your mind. The click, the need to trust him, even seeing him in your dreams. It was right.

* So you believed him, and didn’t give the thirteen million seconds much question. You were going to save him, save your soulmate.

* Because thirteen million seems like a long time, and I guess it was long enough for you to save him. Just not enough to do much more.

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wildernessuntothemselves · 5 months

Text

Devil in Me (teaser)

A/N: basically oc is like the queen of angels and gyu is the prince of darkness but with a twist. oc is the one controlling gyu. gyu is also slightly yanderish in this. i'm thinking of adding more parts to this as i have a couple other ideas in mind.

warnings: devil!gyu, angel!oc, mean dom!oc, cunnilingus, slapping, frotting, cumming in pants

_______________________

“I’m just saying you’re not doing a very good job, and the big guy can see it too. Soon, he’ll have someone come to replace you and you’ll be stripped of your powers. And when he does, maybe he and I can make a deal–I tell my demons to back off a little bit and he gives you to me as a gift. I could use a little sex toy–”

You don’t let him finish his filth, slapping him right across the face. He stops immediately, staring at you wide eyed and breathing heavily. As soon as he gathers enough brain power to open his mouth to talk back again, you slap him a second time, finally shutting him up and showing him you’re done with his bravado.

He surges forward, trying to catch your lips with his but your hand wraps itself around his neck and pushes him down. He knows what you want and he eagerly gets on his knees for you.

“I don't want to hear another word out of your filthy mouth.” You snarl, pushing your index and middle finger inside his mouth. “You’re a disgusting, wicked thing. He would never give me to you. I am worth more than you and all your minions combined.”

He makes a choked sound that resembles the words “I know” but you push your fingers further, choking him and shutting him up.

“You know nothing.” You hiss, taking your fingers out of his mouth, saliva dribbling out onto his chin. “The only toy here is you. So shut up and make yourself useful.”

You walk towards your chair and order him to follow. He crawls towards you just like he's been trained to. You push your white dress up and spread your legs, exposing yourself to him but he knows not to dive in before being given the command.

You make him wait a bit just to torture him. You make him wait until he starts whimpering and squirming, looking up at you with eyes that betray his angel origins before you finally give him the go ahead.

He dives right in, starved. If you didn’t know any better you'd think he's an incubus that survives on your arousal. But he doesn’t even have that grace to spare his ego. He is fully in control of his actions and he chooses to be on his knees for you.

You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling as he uses his mouth and tongue to try to get your attention. You know he hates when you’re not looking at him. He hates when you treat him like he’s so far beneath you even if he consciously put himself there.

You feel him whine against you, the sound accentuating the touch of his tongue as it laps up your arousal and flicks over your little sensitive nub, making your toes curl and your vision to go spotty. He’s so good at this. After all, he had plenty of practice, unlike you who only ever had him. So it isn’t hard for him to rip an orgasm out of you so quickly. This just makes you arch your back and throw your head back further, your eyes scrunching close as the waves of pleasure dull the edges of your anger.

But it’s not entirely gone, and as he whines again for you to look at him, you finally do, growling, “What?”

“Did that feel good?” He mumbles, eyes shiny as he stares up at you, looking for your approval. You groan, pushing his face back down and starting to grind your hips against his mouth. He mewls pathetically but obediently sticks his tongue out so you can use him. He still continues to whine but doesn’t once try to pull away, staying there until you’ve had your fill of him.

It is moments like this where you feel the real danger of his temptation–his pretty eyes, his pathetic whimpers, his need for you… maybe this whole thing is just a massive scheme to corrupt you and drag you down to his realm. He knows he can’t intimidate or scare you into going the wrong way, but his puppy act sure is a lot more convincing.

Twisting his hair in your fingers, you push him away, exhaustion settling deep into your bones now that the pleasure has left. “Get up. You're dismissed.”

He lets out a heartbroken whine and his fingers dip into your thighs. “Please.”

___________________

You can read the whole thing on patreon or kofi. though i'd prefer you go on patreon as not all my writings exclusive will be posted on kofi later on

#txt smut #fem!reader #dom!reader #sub!idol #sub!txt

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 5 months

Text

The Devil You Know (Part 1) - The First Sin

Pairing: Demon! Captain John Price x Reader

(No use of y/n)

Warnings: This series will contain scenes of a violent and sexual nature, I will be more specific as I write more parts.

Summary: Reader is a soldier hanging on to their last gasp of life, trying to summon a demon associated with soldiers and battlefields in order to aid them. Unluckily for you though, the demon isn't interested in a short term deal. He finds himself quite attached to you, and he doesn't want to let you go.

-🔥-

Disembodied hands shook wildly as they set about their terrible task. At least that’s how it seemed to you - appendages moving around a blurred screen, drawing dirtied red symbols with panicked uncertainty. You swiped another slick fingerful of your blood into the dusty concrete and clenched your aching teeth together, finishing off the last curve of the sigil with a snakish hiss.

“I call to you…with the blood of my battle wounds. Jo- Jotan, I will be your willing servant.”

You looked around, eyes darting wildly for movement or any sign that your ridiculous little saving grace had worked. Though nothing happened. You blinked feverishly, feeling your lip wobble at first and then your entire body shake as you absorbed the facts in front of you. You were actually going to die.

A cackle broke out into the room, competing with the baying gunshots outside to break the walls of the decaying shell of a building. It was you. You were finally losing your mind, absorbing the facts in front of you with detached horror.

Perhaps the ruins were an office before, but now it was the final resting place of a desperate lunatic who’d decided to decorate their sepulchre before laughing themselves into death’s arms. The cruelty of it burned in your throat and stang at your eyes, soon searing hot tears into the ruined flesh of your cheeks.

It was a foolish last ditch effort anyway, you mused, collapsing onto your back in the middle of the blood seal. A stupid myth you’d clung to in a final attempt to save your life, a ritual told to you by someone that was long dead themself. If they presumably hadn’t bothered to use it, then why would it do you any good?

“Oh dear…I’m not too late am I?” cooed a soft rumbling voice.

Your eyes opened wide, the owner of the call demanding to be seen. That murmur fizzled in your ears and vibrated in your blood, forcing your hands to scrabble at the ground and set you into a sitting position again.

When you finally rose, you were held in place by the stranger. His onyx black eyes pinned you into place, watching you twitching and panting like a caught mouse. Apparently you amused him with this. His lips pulled into a grin, revealing a row of white teeth that curved into points at the canines and outer incisors, it was the smile of a predator. As if he needed to advertise any more warning signs.

His body was big and broad, his chest a large plane of solid flesh dusted with soot and soft dark hair that matched his bristly beard and hickory hued hair. His large arms were decorated with similar etchings to the ones you’d messily painted, both of them circled in two iron bands at the bicep and forearms, they looked like they could crack teeth in a pinch. There were also a few bands on the thick dark tail that waved behind him too, a detail you only noticed as it seemed to lovingly caress the shadows around his legs.

It was what finally confirmed for you that this was him. The fabled demon of battlefields - Jotan.

“You came,” you whispered.

“You called,” he returned, tilting his head at you. “Surprised you managed to complete the circle. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Sergeant.”

“I…I have,” you replied, feeling another wave of nausea roll through you.

“And I suppose you want me to do something about that?” he said, mouth twisting into a wry half smile.

It was almost worse than when you’d seen his fanged teeth. He looked positively ready to devour you, his gleaming eyes fixed on you like a tiger. You were just waiting for him to pounce, breath catching in your dry throat as you anticipated the killing bite. Suddenly you’d forgotten that it was you that called the terrible entity here, that he was supposed to be serving you rather than terrifying you.

“C’mon now, Love. You clearly knew enough about the ritual to get me here…aren’t you going to follow through?” he prompted, leaning down to meet you at your level. “It’s rude to keep a demon waiting, you know.”

His arms folded over his dark trousers, crossing over each other at his lap as if he were asking you to do something so completely mundane. He tilted his head at you again, flicking his eyes up to the doorway on the other side of the room as it started to shudder and bang. Voices were worming their way through the debris, shouts blasting in through the cracks.

Bang, bang, bang.

You didn’t have much time. Not that your body would be able to hold on much longer anyway.

“I want you to- please…take me back to exfil. Get me the fuck out of here and safely back to base and I’ll do whatever you want,” you said, voice cracking as you made your plea. “Ask anything you want from me, Jotan. Just get me the fuck away from here.”

His eyes curved into shadowed moons, once again he beamed at you. It felt like the stifling room heated a few more degrees. To add insult to injury your lungs began to struggle, it felt like your body was in its last stages of failing.

You briefly wondered if all this just might be a delusion. Maybe your head was presenting you with him as a way to cope with being turned to pink mist by the men that still called from the door outside, as a way to forget about your torn up arms that’d been sliced open by the bombings, and the bullet hole that had been weeping silently in your leg.

Bang, bang, bang.

“I’ll tell you what…I’m feelin’ generous,” the demon murmured, reaching out and forcing your chin up with in his charred fingers. “I’ll take you back to base, just like you want. And now…I could ask for your soul in return, for you to be my eternal servant when you do meet your end, and I really could have you do anything for me. However I won’t do that. Instead, I want to lend you my power. Just for today. That is my only offer.”

You frowned, a million racing thoughts crashing through your mind all at the same time. You’d made peace with the fact he’d ask for something awful, known it even. This clearly had to be a trick. Nevertheless, your head throbbed perilously and the door and furniture you’d messily propped in front of it were going to give way.You didn't have much time.

Bang, bang, bang.

“What will I do with your power?” you asked desperately, looking from him and to the end of the room.

“Let me worry about that,” he chuckled. “I’ll guide you, Sergeant. All you have to do is agree…that or let them flood in and kill you.”

Bang, bang, bang.

He motioned to the thundering door and raised his brows at you. At that point his dark eyes were like vortexes, they dragged you into his orbit and had you falling under his spell. You knew logically that whatever was going to happen was going to change the course of your life forever - and not for the good. Even then, you couldn’t find the strength to deny him, couldn’t hold enough faith in a glorious next life to accept that you’d leave this one.

“Fine! I accept,” you said, eyes wet and heavy.

An animal growl rattled through your bones and shuddered throughout the skeleton remains of the office space. Your body flinched back, responding just as your instincts wanted, but the demon didn’t allow you to retreat. He was quick - arms lashing out and moving like a whip. He gripped your neck like a farmer does to his chickens come dinner time, and just when you were ready for the snap, your body jerked violently.

You forced yourself to your feet, no, you surged upwards like you were under possession. Your legs didn’t feel like they’d buckle anymore, they felt renewed. Your heartbeat was steady like a punctual train, and your breathing returned to normal, better than normal even. Everything in you felt like it was new, like someone had taken out your broken parts and given you an upgrade. You smiled, lips curling over your teeth unnaturally.

Wait- were those…fangs poking into your bottom lip?

Bang!

There was no time to wonder at the strange way your mouth felt. Your head jerked up and suddenly you were greeted with the second worst sight of the day. The enemy soldiers had you surrounded, they flooded into the room like a locust swarm and pointed their guns at you, faithfully looking toward their Captain for the authority to execute.

Normally you would’ve shuddered, or maybe even fallen to the floor, but you held fast. Your breathing remained calm, but your vision went dark. That’s not to say you passed out, but a thick hazy filter seemed to descend across your eyes. Then just when you were about to question it, your arms reached out as if you were being puppeteered and your entire body unwillingly shot forward.

There was no time to even think to connect your actions to the seemingly absent demon then. Instead you latched onto the soldier in front of you like a bear and sank your teeth into his neck. The man screamed, and yelped, and made all sorts of inhuman noises as he struggled to try and pull you off. Though there was no helping him. You continued to bite at his arteries and savage him until his screams were silent and overtaken by the men around him.

Gunshots rang out, but none pierced you. Men beat at your back and pulled at your arms, but you didn’t break your hold. Copper filled your mouth, but you didn’t spit. You smiled with glee and licked at your own salty tears, disengaging from your target only when you were ready.

Little did you know, this was only the beginning of the butchery.

-🔥-

“For fuck sake, get yersel’ to the sink ye riot!”

You jumped out of your thoughts and hazarded a quick look up to your worried manager, following that up by nodding silently and running off to the bathroom. Fuck. All that you could do was grimly stare down at the blood while it merged with the clean tap water and remind yourself that it was fine. You weren’t outside the wire anymore, you were just wait staff in a small restaurant, and you didn’t need to worry about bleeding out anymore because the biggest hazard you faced now was apparently picking up a dirty knife the wrong way.

“Fucking hell,” you chuckled, quietly facing yourself in the mirror and taking a pause from the gory scene below. “It’s just a tiny cut.”

For a second, so quick you only just registered it, black eyes flashed behind you. You jumped back and hyperventilated, doing everything you could to stop yourself from screaming. Though it couldn’t be helped. You forced your hands over your mouth and yelled a muffled cry into your palms instead and rode out your panicked heartbeats until you could be sure you wouldn’t collapse.

You did a double take, searching the mirror for those horrible eyes or any other signs of their proprietor. However, there was nothing else to see but a pathetic ex soldier, black tile and cheap imitation herringbone wood flooring. Suddenly you felt absolutely ridiculous.

You slipped your hands from your mouth and covered your eyes instead, rubbing at hideously embarrassing tears with anger. That stupid therapist you were going to was so wrong, you thought bitterly, you were never going to make progress. You constantly swore that you could see those demonic eyes wherever you went, and sometimes you even thought you saw him. Well not the demon exactly, but a man that so closely resembled him - just without the tail and black eyes.

It’d been a full year since you’d been honourably discharged from the military, and even in all that time, you still hadn’t healed. Sure, the cuts and bullet wounds had made miraculous progress and faded to tiny scars, but inside you may as well have been a shooting range dummy right at the end of target practice. While your superiors had seen fit to dedicate you with a medal for the miraculous fight you put up against the enemy, your head still hadn’t gotten to grips with just how you did it.

Multiple therapists had put it down to repressed memory. They told you that whatever had really happened must’ve been replaced with that accursed demon summoning ritual that you dreamed up in an adrenaline filled haze. They said you might remember it all eventually once you’d healed more, or even that you might never get the answers you sought. There was no footage from your vest cam, and no other eyewitnesses left alive to say what had happened. Just you and your janky, wacky memories.

“Hey, Riot! You gonna come back on shift anytime soon or do I have to explain to Marco why the big bad ex-soldier is dying over a little cut?”

You turned to the door and smiled to yourself, feeling your chest grow lighter the second you heard that voice. Emily always knew how to pull you out of a funk. With that in mind, you shook your head, felt your goosebumps retreat away and stepped out into the scorching warmth of the restaurant. Once more back into the fray.

“The big bad ex-soldier had a lot of blood coming out that little cut,” you shrugged, “can’t be creating a healthcode violation, you know that.”

Emily raised one of her thick dark eyebrows in question and put her hands on her hips. Oh no, this was the serious stance. In fairness, the tables were mobbed that night and she’d been run off her feet by two difficult tables that were ‘not getting acceptable service by any definition of the word’ as one of them had apparently said.

“Put a blue plaster on it and get back out here before I give you a real war wound,” she growled.

Your eyes widened, but you still smiled despite yourself.

“You’re the boss!”

You rushed off to do as she said, ready to come back out and assist her, and if necessary neutralise any threat to her sanity. Emily was one of the few people you’d reconnected with after coming back home, and anyone that messed with her henceforth, was now messing with you.

She’d seen you out and about at the park one day, taking one of your ‘haunted walks’ as she called them - only because you had trouble sleeping and would walk around in a black hoodie with the hood up. It was like something clicked, after being so reluctant to share anything with your family, or military buddies that tried to reach out, it was like you’d found your key. You’d babbled to her about how badly you were struggling to adjust to civilian life, leaking your frustrations like a bled radiator, and she accepted you. She listened without pity.

Now while you wound a plaster round your silly little cut, you watched her zoom round the tables with true gratitude. She was the only reason you’d gotten the job, and been able to integrate back into real life. As much as you had your moments of frustrations, and had brief run ins with your PTSD, you at least had something to distract yourself with. Something that grabbed your attention and set your breathing straight again, when before you would curl in the corner of your room and scream for many minutes at a time.

Once the plaster was affixed, you fiddled with the cracked old first aid box and wrangled it shut, stowing it back into place with a thud before rushing back out to the floor. The smell of garlic and pasta filled your senses, and the voices of the patrons roared rapturously in your ears again. The normal hustle and bustle of the place set you back into your rhythm and the ramped up tempo sent you hurtling toward the kitchen.

“Where’ve you fucking been?” one of the chefs groused, “we’ve got a million plates for table ten here that need serving! I can hear them bitching from here, get moving!”

“Had a little accident getting the plates to Frankie,” you said, motioning to the plaster and your fraught KP behind the pass. “Good to go now!”

Rather than stay to hear the chef's curses, you rushed off with the plates and delivered them to the table, plastering on a smile as the customers moaned up a storm to your face. After offering them your apologies and promises of free sides, they hushed up and all was good again. You tended to your other tables and resumed duty as normal, rotating around Emily and the other waiter, Michael, like little clockwork toys. You all ticked along perfectly, leaving full stomachs and mostly happy faces in your wake.

“Can you take this to table thirteen, please? I gotta piss like crazy!”Micheal ordered.

He handed you a steak that was positively dripping in blood, almost setting you off again were it not for the fact that you were so confused by his request. There’s potatoes and salad and sauce on that plate, you thought to yourself, its not a body, just a hunk of meat.

“There isn’t a table thir-” you started, soon trailing off.

Michael had long since dashed off before you could correct him and you sighed to yourself. Great, now who on earth could this be for? You knew every table in the restaurant of course, your knowledge on the place was near perfect with Emily acting like a drill sergeant during your probation stages. However, you didn’t know where thirteen could be, because it didn’t exist. Most people knew that restaurants skipped that number because it was unlucky. Apparently not Michael though.

“I believe that’s for me,” called a rumbling voice.

You frowned and looked down to the man before you, startling as you realised that a table had been placed where it shouldn’t have, and in turn you were standing right over a poor customer. No wonder Michael had made the mistake, you had no idea where the table had even come from. Though you were too embarrassed to worry very much about that in the moment, you needed to recover in front of the man before you made an idiot out of yourself.

“Apologies, sir,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a busy night. Can I get you anything else?”

You placed down the food in front of him and were glad for it after you’d made eye contact. There was something strange about the man that made you jump. His stunning blue eyes captured your gaze and made you feel like you were in the middle of a laser sight. You gulped and looked away for a second afterward, trying your best to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” the man said softly, still fixing his eyes on you. “This is perfect.”

His sly grin struck you as familiar, but when you studied the man more, you couldn’t place him. He had a dark peacoat draped over his chair and wore a black shirt and fitted jeans. His beard was trim and cut close to his jawline, and his hair was near perfect, combed back neatly over his head. Everything about him was perfectly ordinary, perhaps would’ve been completely innocuous if not for his eyes.

You could’ve sworn there was a little black band circling the pupil, but just as you thought you’d lost yourself in them he chuckled at you. Causing your face to flame up in burning shame.

“I’m so sorry for staring,” you apologised, holding your hands up in appeasement. “I don’t know what that was about, sorry. You just seemed familiar for a sec.”

“Oh really?” he laughed, “Don’t happen to know a Jonathan Price do you?”

“Jonathan Price?” you repeated questioningly.

“My name, sweetheart,” he grinned, showing off his pointy canines. “Though you can just call me John if you like.”

“Oh my god, my brain’s going tonight,” you laughed, trying to get yourself away from him and the bloody steak that seemed to ooze with every passing second. “I’ll stop bothering you now, Jonathan! Enjoy your steak.”

His name sat heavy on your tongue, as if a fizzy sweetie had stung at the nerves and left it swollen and red. Jonathan. There was something about it that didn’t fit right. An unnatural force wanted you to turn round and call him a liar, demand that he reveal himself for who he really was.

Though you didn’t put much credence in unnatural forces anymore. Not when unnatural forces tended to be symptoms of your mental illness. Instead you shook your head and kept working, making a note to yourself that you needed to get more sleep that night. Sleep and meds usually helped, and you were praying that they’d set you right again the next day.

#Demon!Price #captain john price #captain price x reader #mw2 #call of duty

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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months

Note

Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.

Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)

Thabj you!!!

Even Demons are Lonely

Wordcount: 3.8 k

Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.

Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes.

A/N: I did take my time with this one... 🩷 And it's only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋

"Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss..."

– John Milton, Paradise Lost

Purgatory.

That's the word that stuck to him when he was learning English at school, simply because it was an accurate definition of how he felt.

Adults used to say there is heaven and hell, and then this world, the world of humans, somewhere in between. They said he would go to heaven after he died and that bad people would go to hell.

They were all liars because hell already existed here on Earth. He had lived there ever since he was born.

The first memories of the cutting are shallow and pale, like they happened to some other boy. With every hit and cut and every cry, the sounds turned muddy until he was mute too, until all he could hear was mother's crying and Papa's roaring. The old man always got more mad when people cried and cowered.

That's when he knew he would someday do something about bad people, that crying and cowering and begging wasn't going to help. It was the birth hour of hope and heaven. He dreamed of killing his father, killing his "friends", killing everyone who looked at him like he was a freak.

He soon learned that this was not what people associated with heaven at all. He learned that there was a word for people like him, for phantoms who were morbidly interested in death and decay.

Ghoul.

A grave robber and a corpse feaster he was not, but neither was he going to pretend that some people didn't deserve to be gutted. If being normal meant he should just play along and pretend that there was justice in this world, then he was happy to be morbid. A little ghoul boy who grew up in hell, who dreamed of heaven, who slipped behind the thin veil between the worlds when he was four, who learned how to make the knives dance while everyone around him suffered.

He learned to cry and beg before he learned to speak, but when the words finally started to make sense to him, he had no use for them. No one wanted to talk to him, so he settled to observe. Life was a film reel running by, and words were useless when all he wanted to do was roar. There was a growing, gaping maw inside him, shrieking and spitting blood while he was without a voice.

It took a while to make Papa cry and beg. But he begged, eventually. In his last words, he tried to hide behind a woman’s skirt.

"Don't do this to your mother," was a plea that didn't ignite mercy: it drove him off the ledge. Looking at the horrible excuse for a man squirming at his feet made him realize he should've released his mother from this demon years ago. He was too weak, and he vowed to himself, to the whole world, that he would never be weak again.

………………

Sometimes, a glimpse of true heaven can be seen on a clear summer's day when the sun shines, when bees are buzzing and a beautiful voice sings a love song on the radio. Beautiful, peaceful things only add to his suffering. They are simply evidence gathered – examples of everything he will never have.

The air clots inside his mask with a brew of old sweat and acrid gunpowder. It's usually enriched by a hot desert wind or the stench of dust and emissions, a city's rotten core. It would feel odd to be met with a fresh breeze or the smell of rust and smoke than have them dampened by the baggy mask. He's certain that it would only be painful to feel the full brunt of the world on his naked face again. His enemies can't see him when he kills them, so they can't haunt him either.

He is the only ghoul here. He is the one who haunts.

He's learned to let love and peace go. He came here to reap; that's his job. Ghouls cannot love or be loved. They are supposed to get rid of the plague, do what normal people can't do, what good people deem hideous and wrong.

People have always been alien to him: they both know something he cannot seem to decode and are unaware of the constant presence of the Maw. He has to feed it in order to not be swallowed by it himself. It helps with the constant yelling for a while.

His father was the first demon to be punished, but he has learned that all demons are liars when they beg. They don't know what real hell is like. That's why he didn't give mercy to his father, and that's why he doesn't give mercy to them, either. It's not hell, it's not heaven, so he must be in a limbo state in between.

That's why he calls this place purgatory.

………………

He sees a woman under the sun one day.

The sheer sight of her sitting there on her little blanket spread over the grass, dressed in a pure white dress is like a torturing dream from above. It stops him in his tracks like there is suddenly an invisible wall in front of him, forcing him to halt.

His heart is pounding, but that's not new. His heart is always tight and racing, and that's why it's better to have a heavy gun in his hands than hold onto nothing at all; it's better to do something than do nothing at all. The only thing that calms the endless roil inside him is work; when there's no work, it helps to go outdoors, somewhere between the shadows between thick trees.

Trees are better than people...

But they're not better than a woman like her.

He knows his mind plays tricks sometimes with females. That is why at first he thinks that the creature before him is not from this world either. How could someone like her even end up here? There are few ladies in the base, and none of them have picnics; none of them look like angels.

She looks up at the sky, at the single cloud drifting across the cerulean blue that hurts his eyes. Sun shines on her exposed throat, her stare is dreamy as she basks in the warmth and raises an apple to her lips.

He stops breathing as she takes a bite, fearing it might stain the beautiful white dress from how juicy it is. The runaway apple juice drips down her chin, but she catches it with her finger, then sweeps the sweet taste of it back into her mouth.

Her lips hug the finger gently as she savors the treat, and his breath returns to him, heavy and with a pang, like someone just punched him between the lungs.

She can't be human...

He wonders if she's even real.

He's hungry, but the need to devour this woman turns into a need to worship her before he can even decipher what is happening to him. He would grovel at her feet if that's what it took to get her to feed him some of that fruit. His mind goes numb from the need to march there and hug her. Just hold her, so close that he forgets what it is to breathe.

He knows she would only scream, and it's good he's been walking in the shade. It's good that she can't see him unless she turns her head. Because she must be an angel, and angels have no business with ghouls.

He should go and leave her be... Mortals he can want, humans he can torture, but a celestial being he could never touch. The wind carries a whiff of apple juice to his nose; it overrides the stench of sweat and gun oil and smoke.

And then the angel turns her head.

It's Judgment Day, but she doesn't condemn him. She blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he's another sun, the dreaded black sun, and she can't bear to look directly at him. But there's no disgust, no uneasiness, there's no fear. There's only shyness and the smallest smile.

The pain inside his gut turns into a brutal stab, pure suffering. He hasn't hoped for anything for a long, long time. Now hope bleeds into his stomach with golden tingles, like those rays of sun that caress her skin.

He thought good things would feel… well, good, but to his horror, they feel painful too. She's painfully sweet. Even the demon inside him falls silent, the only demon he cannot destroy. It's finally quiet, as it should be. Everything in him bows to this greater power of Her.

But she can't be real... His mind is sick and has finally conjured up the most beautiful thing he can never, ever have. He's been called a freak, he's been called a dumb ugly giant, he's been called so many things, but he's not stupid enough to think that the creature hugged by the golden aura of light is meant for him.

So he squares his shoulders and pushes through the invisible wall, back behind the veil, back to where he belongs, and leaves the heavenly apparition in the sun.

………………

The next time he sees her is after a mission and inside the base.

He brings mud and blood inside after a few rainy days spent in the mountains. He's so soaked that not even the 3-hour flight managed to dry all the dirt. She's waiting for him, or that's how it feels like when she gives him a small, relieved smile and starts to clean the mess he and every other operator leave behind.

His angel is not only a celestial visage but a cleaner.

She keeps the building that houses people who destroy life, clean. She scrubs the filth killers like him bring inside the cold, dead compound built on what used to be a forest full of birds, life, and wind through the trees.

No one thanks this girl as she humbly dusts a table or mops the floor. No one understands that she's a saint for coming to the purgatory and making it a more decent place for the demons and ghouls to live. And she's relieved every time he comes back unharmed. She's happy to see he's alive. There's someone waiting for him. And not just someone, not just anyone, but an angel.

It's unbelievable how no one has claimed her yet. She has no one to keep her safe, and it makes his hands twitch. If he was her protector, she would never have to work again.

She's not like the rest of them: she doesn't turn her gaze away when he flicks a knife out. She likes to watch him make them dance. It's a ritual that makes him invincible on the battlefield. He used to do it every morning before school to stay safe – there were no angels back then to keep him alive.

He almost stops the first time he sees her watching how he goes through the rite.

No, look away, little angel... You're not supposed to see this; this is a death dance, it's filthy, demonic magic.

But she's not afraid of his blades or the way he weaves his spell of protection. The girl follows his moves entranced. Her eyes shine, and he nearly drops the blade – he hasn't dropped a knife since he was ten – because there's hunger in her stare. Not as fathomless as his, but deep enough for him to recognize it.

His angel is lonely and trapped too.

He completes the dance, returns the knife to his pocket, and looks back, straight back.

She doesn't look away. She doesn't wince or lean back, no: she leans forward, and he can see it, the way her pulse flutters on her neck, the way her mouth opens even more, how a tiny pink tongue sweeps across her lips as she looks back into the jaws of damnation. It takes him a while to realize his angel must be wet, just from seeing how good he is with a knife. The notion doesn't only make his cock jolt; it throws him headfirst into the abyss.

You'll never get rid of me now, the demon growls before he can choke him silent.

Her wet eyes, her wet, promising lips belong in a realm of madness. She's not filthy; his angel could never be filthy. But she's seducing him, which means she might seduce other men too.

Has someone claimed her already…?

What if she has a lover? Do they make her legs shake, do they make her mew?

Who does he have to kill?

………………

He breaks into her room that night.

He only meant to stand watch and see if someone creeps to her in the cover of darkness. He thinks about different ways to kill her lover as he waits near her door. Should he just strangle them when they enter her room? Make her an offering, let her know she could have a far more powerful male if she wants?

No, he must use a knife... She will get wet if he uses a knife.

But no one appears: he is the only shadow in the dark hall, and after midnight, he decides to take a look at his innocent, sleeping angel. Just one look.

Her domain is full of softness, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he continues. Her world is so different from his that he nearly turns back and closes the door to paradise. But then her breathing calls to him, causing him to take a few steps. She sleeps with her window open, likes to listen to the sound of night birds before she falls asleep – just like he does…

The demon is awake in an instant and grabs him by the throat.

No.

Don’t look. If you look, she will steal your soul.

He freezes before he reaches her bed. His gaze sweeps her room instead, and the demon pants at the sight. Her dresses are laid out on a clothing rack: they salute him like a row of colorful flowers. Flowing and singing like a river, they hit him with a breeze made of life and all things good.

She has a little armchair filled with cushions, and there's more softness and beauty everywhere he looks; he can see it even in the darkness of the night. Her delicate perfume that follows him as he follows her around the base lingers in the air and mixes with the distant birdsong and moonlight that shift the curtains in her room.

There's art on her walls, lively houseplants on the window sill, she has collected a cavalcade of cute little things on top of her drawer: nail polish and sea shells and beeswax candles and a piece of driftwood, a bottle of that perfume she uses, decorative lights above it all, placed around a small mirror.

He wants all of that.

He wants light and living things and greenery – he never had plants at home – he wants softness and cute little items, he wants to listen if the seashell still roars with the crashing waves were he to bring it to his ear. His mama always told him seashells remember the ocean because it used to be their home…

He wants her to light a honeyed candle and give him a bite of that apple, catch the juice as it runs down his scarred chin, or better yet, kiss it away before it falls. He wants to taste what's between her thighs. She must taste like honey and heaven.

One of the drawers is open, and from it, a torrent of cute little underthings is spilling out; they almost cascade on the floor. In different colors, too, and his hand reaches out and takes one before he can even think. He steals it like it's candy, then turns around with a stiff back and shoulders heavy from the sin he just committed.

He's about to go to the door, but her soft breathing calls him back. He tries to calm the demon - the girl can't steal anything: there's nothing left to steal. He has no soul, so he doesn't have to fear her either.

Taking a few steps, he takes the peek he shouldn't take because it will only prolong his sentence in purgatory. Little does the demon know that he would suffer eternally for one little glimpse…

She's not cocooned inside her blanket as he thought she would be. He thought he would find her coiled into a fetal position, curled into safety, but instead, she's sleeping on her back, arms spread next to her face, looking like she just fell from heaven and is feeling a little dizzy from the fall. She's calm and innocent as the moonlight brushes her cheek, her face free from all worry.

Why is she so cute, why is she so sweet?

She has no right. She should be up in heaven.

He almost crawls on top of her right then and there, because blinding want is nothing compared to this. He wants to breathe her, breathe with her, hold her gently, and have her smile at him when she wakes up. He doesn't want to ruin her… He just wants a taste, see if an angel would like to have a demon worship her. If his worship would mean anything, if it had any power to persuade her to like him...

He would never kneel before anyone, but he would kneel before her. In spirit, he is on his knees, and the only thing that makes him suffer is the fear that she might not want him, a ruined temple haunted by old, hateful spirits.

The madness was right. Apparently, there was a soul to steal, a tiny broken mosaic piece left, for the angel has it now. She owns what's left of him, the haunted temple is hers if she would ever want to come visit. He would restrain all those monsters so that she can walk freely and explore all the things buried under the rubble.

Her underwear burns his palm like a flower on fire. He only then realizes that there are no actual flowers in her room. He wonders if she would give him a kiss if he were to bring her one. Or two. Or an entire bouquet…

The demon inside cuts him with a searing blade – stupid idiot – she doesn't want to kiss your mauled face or love your ghouls. There's no treasure hidden inside that filthy rubble, there's only shit and blood and festering vomit. Better to just take her right now, see how tight she is, how wide her eyes go when a proper man comes to assert his will and authority. The demon tells him to at least ruin that cute thing in his hand and throw it on the table. Imagine her shocked little face when she wakes up…

Tears brim, and the maw of hell laughs with a roar of raging fire. He forces both down with a swallow and a wrench that shuts his heart.

There's no way she would ever let a man like him inside her. He's a sickness; no, he's an entire plague. He could try to make love to her, and she would only cry and bleed to death.

The smooth place between her brows gains a wrinkle as if she can hear his thoughts but doesn't agree with them. A little whimper escapes her nose, her head nods on the pillow; it looks like an attempt to hide while you're tied and cannot move.

Pretty angel is having a nightmare, and it's no wonder. Of course she can sense she's being visited by a monster.

He turns to leave, and notices another colorful thing on the floor: her underwear, and not clean. She's slipped out of it before bed: his angel is naked under that blanket. His angel sleeps naked…

He wonders if she has touched herself before sleep. Not with feverish, stern hands, like he does, but softly, under that blanket, with her features melting into pleasure as she comes with sighs and a series of desperate little whimpers.

His blood turns to hellfire as he drops the underwear he's holding. It falls right next to the intoxicating thing he picks up instead. Taking a deep inhale, he can finally smell her. Not just her perfume, but her. She smells of an angel and a woman, raw, perfect woman, and he knows he's lost. This is worse than any dream or demon; this is worse than anything ever before. There's no going back now.

Her scent calls to him, those hands frame her face in a gesture of surrender. She smiled at him on that day under the sun, and she smiled at him today.

What if he's spent enough time in hell? What if it's possible to have a taste of heaven?

He can't help but wonder if his angel wants this too...

“Engel,” he whispers into the night.

It takes only a second before she whimpers again. It's an answer, it's a yes, and his heart is full of tiny needles; they pinch him with terrible love and hope. The wrinkle has smoothed out, and his angel is smiling very, very softly.

She's calling for him. How could he refuse?

His angel is full of light as he makes his decision. He whispers his apology, only in his mind and only in German, trusting that angels must know every language in the world. He asks for her forgiveness for all the things he's about to do to her. Then he promises he will come for her, that she doesn't need to worry: she has a guardian now and always will. She will be forever safe with him by her side. He will drive even her nightmares away.

Then he returns to his room so different from hers, returns to the realm of death and worships the thing he just stole, spraying it with hot, white love - the only thing inside him that can be called pure, the color of angels. It's only a matter of time before he gets to worship her in the flesh, unite with her, the soul who forgave his sins and slipped him the key to heaven.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #yandere könig #soft yandere #male yandere #obsessive love #cw: stalking #cw: dark content

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kaisers-house-of-desires · 10 months

Note

Psssst, it's me, J, I may have a wonderful little request, but may I offer

Leona x ray of sunshine nonbinary reader, with top Leona trying to corrupt the reader with any kink of your choosing?

Oh, my dear, you have no idea how much I adore corruption~ This one may be a bit longer, but nonetheless, please enjoy~

Title: A King's Corruption

Characters: Top!Leona x Bottom!Enby!Reader

Contains: corruption, rough sex, choking

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

"Hey...I wanna try something new."

Leona gazed down at you from his hovered position, arms resting on either side of your head. His expression was serious but laced with hesitance. You two were in Leona's bed together, his large blanket over the both of you as if to cover the devil's dance when he asked his question.

"Oh Leona, of course! You know I don't mind trying new things with you." You softly smiled, gently caressing his face to further reassure the beastman. "What is it?"

"Well...it's a couple things but...first. I was wondering if...I could go rougher tonight."

He was always gentle with you. Despite his demeanor, he always played with you like you were fragile, and you didn't mind it. You adored how soft he could be, how careful yet filling he felt when thrusting into you. Though you had to admit, you felt as if something could be done to spice that up, you were just unsure of how to bring it up.

Though this didn't mean you were without hesitation. "Well...rougher how?"

"I'm...not sure? I just...I want to use my hands a bit more, move harder..."

In all honesty, you weren't sure how you would feel about this, but instead of shutting him down, you replied, "Let's try tonight. Nothing crazy, but you can use your hands a bit more, okay?"

---

Leona carefully thrusted into you, his speed his typical, gentle pace, though this time he had your wrists pinned with his hands, the tips of his claws pressing ever so carefully into your skin. The air was full of sound, moans and gentle skin slapping.

"L-Leona~"

You had to admit, being pinned like this was quite blissful. Despite his gentle movements, you felt at his mercy, and it was quite exciting to feel. This was definitely more than okay with you now, considering just how incredible it felt under his hands.

Then, without thinking, you uttered, "H-Harder...~"

Leona's thrusts sputtered before stalling, as if he had to reach deep within himself to keep control. "A-Are you sure?"

You nodded with a hum, more than certain.

Though you consented, Leona was still careful as his roughness increased, yet that small bit was enough to pitch your moans, your head digging into the pillow. Who knew such little changes would feel so pleasant?

"F-Fuck~! L-Leona~!"

---

Whenever you two were together in bed, a little bit would always be added at your approval. At one point, Leona had brought up the other thing he wanted to do, which was choking. Now that one you were hesitant on, but after your trial sessions similar to the roughness tests, you found that it was just as exhilerating. Throughout it all, you had wondered why you never brought it up before, or rather why you couldn't, but you were always greatful that Leona did so, saving you the trouble.

It wasn't until one night, after many many nights of boundary testing, you two were once again in Leona's bed. He was moving at a pace and roughness that would make demons blush. His hands clutched at the bedsheets beside your head, growling and panting as he fucked your hole with wild abandon. The way you screamed his name had urged him on so much that he was practically feral.

"L-Leona~! S-So good~ S-So fucking good~!"

Though one thing he wasn't expecting just yet was for you to grip at his wrist, startling him to let go of the sheets as you directed his hand over to your neck, gazing up at him with pleading eyes.

His heart throbbed with desire, his cock twitching inside of you as he gripped the sides of your neck, cutting off the bloodflow to your head as it gave you a blissful, fucked out expression. This was what he wanted to see. That sweet face he saw everyday, that sunshine-like, sweet person, reduced to a cock hungry mess.

Leona released your throat, giving you a moment's rest before gripping once more, slightly tighter. He gave a breathy, gravely chuckle as he watched you squirm below him with pitching moans.

"Y-You're doing so good for me~ Now...l-let's get you to cum like this~"

#kaisers house of desires #x reader #twisted wonderland #bottom male reader #x enby reader #x nb reader #x nonbinary reader #nonbinary reader #leona x y/n #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland leona #leona twst #leona twisted wonderland #choking #rough kink #corruption kink

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rottingpirate · 1 year

Text

TF-141 w/ M!reader with a deep voice

Warnings: some suggestive themes but no smut, just fluff

Price

Your voice is deep. Somewhat like a baritone, but with a soft twist to it, like melted butter.

Deep like the feeling of looking into vast waters below you in a lonely ocean. It rumbled in the chest and tested the foundations of your ribs.

He first got scared of your voice a little after you were recruited into 141. It was 0500 and you were making coffee, so you also decided to make your Captain a cup as well. He seemed to be so focused, too focused to not notice you walk in.

“Mornin, Captain" Your voice was rough and scratchy in the morning. Scared the shit out of him.

Called you a 'Fuckin demon' after muttering a thank you

Would be surprised, especially if you don't seem like a person with a voice like that

Finds it relaxing when you read books to him

Your laugh and giggles make his heart flutter

Always bites back a laugh when you, Soap and/or Gaz decide to pull pranks on other people

Once dressing up as a grim reaper, while yelling at Ghost that it's his time to go or dressing up as some scary monsters and scaring the rookies

Soap

He thinks your voice is hot

Finds himself falling in love with your voice

Makes you read books and repeat stuff to him.

“I love you” “again” “I love you” “again” "I said it 50 times already." "So? Again." “I love you, Johnny” goner

Will make you say some random words just for fun

"Bubbles" "Cupcakes" "Defenestration" "Kerfuffle"

If you have an accent then he loves it even more

Gets a mini heart attack everytime you creep behind him and whisper in his ear

Doesn't forgive you for the rest of the day

One time he let out a super high pitched scream. His body jerked in fear and he punched you right in the gut. He was very embarassed after that.

Loves pulling pranks with you

Be it dressing up or just creeping up on others and scaring the living hell out of them

Price would ground you two if he could

Ghost

His voice is deep, so he wasn't exactly startled when he first heard you

That was the first time he heard that deep voice, sure he had heard scary deep voices before, but there was something in this one that made it different, it had a calming tone instead of a threatening one.

Your voice is not that kind of deep. It flows like honey, so sweet. It's the definition of calm and collected

Lowkey records while you talk, so that he can listen to your calming voice

It actually helps him sleep

Finds you quite intimitading when you’re mad and the voice makes it 100% scarier

You might not be able to get him scared, but you can get him flustered

Finds your groans and whimpers hellishly hot

Really felt like his entire self just crumbled

If you're insecure about your voice, them he's gonna comfort you and try to show you how awesome it is

Practically forces you to love it too

Gaz

What. The fuck. Was that.

It felt like an utmost electrical shock

He was just cleaning his gun one day when someone started talking in his ear with this sinister evil devil voice

Felt like someone visited him and told him secrets he'd rather not hear

Really wants to put a damn collar bell on you so that he hears you coming

Starts calling you "Batman" And that he's your Robin

Ah shit, your voice should be illegal

Your morning voice sends him to cloud nine

But he also finds it hella cool

He would pay some real money for you to read the dictionary into his ear

He just finds it so soothing and relaxing when you're not mad

When you're mad, then he's terrified of your demonic voice

#call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #cod x male reader #x male reader #x reader

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ghouljams · 11 months

Note

I just ascended while reading that Ballet!König and now I must politely ask for more serotonin via your Demon!Reader au - ☀��

Oh Sunny, I have a feeling you are going to like this.

There's a rumor among spec operators that gets squashed by the higher ups any time it starts circulating again. They say the really good(or bad considering which side of the gun you're on) operators are shadowed by demons. That any man who spills that much blood, loses enough of himself, will invite the devil himself into his steps. Command is always quick to dismiss these rumors as metaphorical nonsense, and Ghost for one is happy for that.

He's never been one for superstition, and having recruits tittering about demons and ghosts other than him is more than a little annoying when he's trying to brief them. That's one of the many perks of being in the 141. No recruits. No rumors.

Ghost grabs an enemy combatant, shooting out their knee before twisting them over his shoulder to flip them onto their back. One last bullet, clean between the eyes, to put them out of their misery.

"Perimeter secure," He tells Soap over the comms. The static comes in waves, rushing back and forth in his ear like the ocean tide. He taps his ear piece. "Soap, how copy?"

The body jerks, blood bubbling and gurgling from every hole. It jerks again, like it can't find a proper position to die in. Ghost trains his gun on it again, waiting. Waiting for what? For it to spring back to life? Christ man, get a hold of yourself. It still, blood still pouring from it. More blood than Ghost thought a body could hold. It pools closer to his boots and he steps back from it with a grimace. The blood stops. The static stops.

"Soap, how copy?" He repeats quickly.

"Ghost? Steamin' hell mate, thought we'd lost you." Soap's voice rings clear over the comm line, Ghost frowns, "Been over an hour, what the fuck have you been doing?"

He feels heavy. Making his way to the extraction point, sitting in the chopper, briefing Price on what the hell happened. Heavy as he finally collapses onto his bed in the barracks. He doesn't even bother turning the lights on, barely remembers to tug his mask off before he hits the pillow. He rolls onto his back and stares into the darkness at the ceiling.

Two eyes stare back at him, glowing, watching, as a weight settles on his chest. They tip and blink curiously at him.

"You've been doing very well for yourself," A soft feminine voice tells him.

"Debatable." Ghost tells you, hearing a hum of agreement.

"True, I think you could be doing much better with me."

"I'm fuckin' dreamin'." He tries to move, tries to conjure any feeling but the interminable stillness that's blanketed him. The lights flick on, and it's not the eyes, it's the teeth, the pearl smile that seems to promise him everything, for a price.

The woman sitting on his chest is... well just that, a woman sitting on his chest. Gorgeous with the overhead light haloing you. If the horns weren't casting shadows over him he'd almost think you were an angel. If he is dreaming, it's a damn good one.

"The hell are you," He mumbles, watching you curl like a cat to look deeper into his eyes.

"Shouldn't you know? You're the one that summoned me."

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #I'm gonna write the spy au intro too because it's more Ghost having to deal with insane women #I really was gonna do a similar summary for this as with Konig's ballet au #but then I was like actually I know exactly how I want this to go #turns out if you kill enough people the universe will assign you a girlfriend #demon!Darling au #☀️ anon

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sorcerous-caress · 5 months

Note

For some Wyll angst, do you think you could write something where Tav is a tiefling and they're a bit insecure about their budding relationship with Wyll because he hates his devilish appearance so they're like “how could he possibly be attracted to me” (— Wyll girl dad anon)

Wyll with an insecure tiefling Tav

[Angst, comfort, image issues, tiefling Reader, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

You really tried to not let it get to you.

Each time he made a demeaning comment about his new appearance.

Sneered at the reflection of his horns, ones just like yours.

The way he stiffened when someone would focus on his red eye with the black sclera, preferring they face the sending stone one instead.

He has every right to be upset about his appreance getting forcibly changed.

And yet, despite it all, every word dug into your heart as if they were told to you personally.

Devil, demon, hellspawn, the humans loathed your kind.

You thought he was different, when you saw him being so gentle with the tiefling kids.

But a human, will always be a human.

Fear of the unknown, of what lurks behind the curtains, it was always a great motivator for the human kind.

Your horns, your tail, your bright flaming eyes and colorful vibrant skin.

Things your own mother celebrated in you as a kid.

Things your own father boosted about with pride.

Things that once were beautiful.

Marked you as a monster to the world.

Even when you fell in love with this world, left the safe nest of your own people to go explore.

it never loved you back.

So why would he love you back?

You don't remember when it started, but slowly, eventually, your beautiful reflection in the mirror twisted and cracked everyday.

Until you too, could only see the monster the other claimed you to be.

You thought he could see the beauty in you, that you too have a soul.

You were a fool.

Why would he see that when he can't see it in himself? Why would he love you when he is clearly disgusted by the idea of being like you.

You thought humans were pretty, plain yes, but pretty in their simplicity.

And even when he lost his resemblance to his own kin, you still thought that he was pretty.

Charming, beautiful, mesmerising, so many words could describe Wyll and fail to give him justice.

The lovely horns that felt like they were the missing piece to yours, the mapping of his skin with the ridges and pumps that made him even more sharper.

He clearly thought differently.

And so to protect yourself, you took a step back.

Distaned your heart, pulled back your curtains.

Wyll noticed it of course, your sudden change of heart.

But like any proper gentleman, he never addressed it, never felt like he had the right to when the two of you barely even shared a kiss.

You couldn't avoid him forever.

And so he waited until the celebration to approach you, to open the topic.

He was delicate with it, always knew how to spin his words correctly.

You were kind, always knew how to evade a topic politely.

An endless dance that was growing tiring as the night went on, as people retired to their tents.

Leaving just you and Wyll.

His flirting, words that once fluttered your heart, stung like a needle through it instead.

How could he possibly be attracted to you?

And you told him so, as you were getting fed up with this whole situation.

Told him to drop the act, he doesn't have to pretend to find you not hideous just because you're the group leader.

There was genuine suprise in Wyll's eyes, a flash of disbelief.

And for a moment the mask dropped, his charming flamboyant words that are usually dressed up were bare and forward instead.

Asking why do you think he's pretending

Why would he ever find you hideous.

You were more confused by the second, is he feigning innocence? Or is he making fun of you?

Does he think you're a fool?

The dome collapsed and the walls cracked as your heart poured out all of the pain it contained inside, each and every one of his passing comments that were ingrained in your brain like a parasite digging at your skull whenever you thought you had a chance.

Mocking you for thinking a monster can be anything but a monster, for thinking a human can see humanity in others.

As you recalled every word you were a witness to, Wyll was horrifed by the end of it.

Of himself.

The raging flames of anger amidst your chest weren't rejected by him, but welcomed as he stepped into the flames and didn't attempt to forcefully douse them.

Instead, he apologied.

To you, for everything he said, for his naive ignorance, for being too obsorbed in his own view of what makes a human a human to truly comprehend what he was condeming.

Who he was condemning.

For it wasn't the devils he ended up cursing, but the innocent tieflings he was attempting to save.

How unaware he was in his blinded rage, damming the ones he was trying to protect.

Hurting the one person he loved.

Love.

For you were not a monster in his eyes, you were love, pure in essence, raging flames in passion, beautiful in core.

He confessed how he almost didn't believe his eyes when he saw you, almost questioned reality. For how could one person put the sun to shame? How could one person rival the moon in grace?

And again, he apologiesed.

The night ended quietly.

And you noticed how Wyll lingered more and more on his own reflection.

Looked at his own horns the same way he admired yours when he thought no one was looking.

Traced the ridges on his face, gently.

And then you noticed it, a single charm.

A subtle gold trinket that one puts at the end of their horn.

Strangely, he only wore one, yet you were sure they came in a pair.

At the end of that day, you found the matching charm inside your tent with a letter underneath.

Your eyes scanned the paper, taking in the carefully written lines, the cursive words.

You held the charm in the other hand.

And nothing ever, could compare to Wyll's smile the next day as he saw you wearing it.

Although he would object, for he claims your own smile, sharp teeth and all, would make the flowers bloom in adoration.

And in a way, you were starting to see your own face again, your own reflection again.

The same could be said for Wyll, for his own monster too, quietly went to bed whenever you were around.

#♡Wyll #Wyll'sWeek #Wyll's week #♡comfort #♡angst #♡fluff #♡Wyll'sWeek #♡tiefling tav #♡tiefling reader #wyll x reader #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #tiefling tav #insecurity #comfort #angst #♡Wyllgirldad anon

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venusforfran · 16 days

Text

Hazbin Victorian flower Language HC

Meanings below the cut!

Hi hi!! Using my random knowledge for a few of the hazbin cast. Do reply with characters you'd like to see in the next three! Now, for the meanings:

Alastor

For Al I decided using mainly white flowers with dark meanings reflects how he tries to present himself as completely harmless to Charlie despite her clearly knowing he isn't.

Great laurel (rhododendron): This one is simple. Danger, beware. He's a dangerous force, and this is as plain as it can get.

Dragonwort: Horror. This reflects his gory, cannibalistic and frankly terrifying nature.

Dogsbane: Deceit, falsehood. Alastor is a manipulator, and he does it well. He's able to lie, twist his words and back people into a corner in order to make deals with him.

Deadly nightshade: This is a toxic perennial. It is physically dangerous and represents danger and betrayal. This one is far more clear, its in the name and I like to think it shows how he manipulates but everyone knows of his danger regardless. (its also referred to as property of the devil, linking back to the lilith theory a bit, but shhh)

Vox

Vox was tricky, it was difficult to find flowers which related to his personality but here goes.

Gloxina: Proud spirit. He's outwardly full of pride and performing to the demons of hell.

Narcissus: Egotism. This one's clear. He's excessively obsessed with his image, and is very threatened by Alastor in particular trying to ruin that. He wants to appear favourable to the public too.

French marigold: This has a few different meanings, but I want to focus specifically on wealth. He's incredibly wealthy with both money and power. Hell, he's literally a CEO. It can also represent cruelness and coldness due to jealousy.

Aloe: Listen, I don't know. I know he keeps a singular one on his desk somewhere in the tower and calls himself a gardener. Also, it represents bitterness. This is another show of his rivalry with Alastor (possibly due to previous friendship).

Lucifer

Red columbine: Anxious. Maybe not to everyone, but he's very conscious of being a good father and feels he underperforms consistently.

White chrysanthemum: Truth. He's the snake in the garden of eden, introducing free will and truth to humanity.

Apple blossom: How couldn't I! This one doesn't outright relate to Lucifer but come on, APPLE blossom. It means "fame speaks him great and good" and well, I'm assuming Hell fears him based on everyones reactions and the fact he's the literal king of hell.

Buttercup: Riches, memories of childhood. I know this is a stretch, but memories of childhood are his days as an angel and the other side of it riches represent his physical wealth.

Anyway I'm exhausted lol. Please do suggest any!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin headcanons #hc #hazbin hotel vox #vox #alastor #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel art #hazbin fanart #victorian flower language #victorian #flower #floral

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 1 year

Note

hi! I was wondering if you knew of any fics where stiles sides with peter in season 1, with no smut? also, preferably sterek, but not necessary. ty in advance!

Hi anon! @kevaaronday found these for you.

we are the choices we make by EclipseWing(23/23 | 91,575 | Teen) The first major turning point changes. It's not as simple as a change in who was bitten. Maybe it would have been easier that way, if one of them was still human.

[or: in which Stiles and Scott both get bitten, and Stiles picks the alpha’s side.]

Sympathy for the Devil by KouriArashi(14/14 | 72,522 | Mature | Steter) Stiles gets a job as a hospital orderly and finds himself becoming strangely attached to the catatonic man on the long-term care ward, and finds out that there's a lot more to Peter Hale than there seems…

This House Has Long Been Over by ketren (8/8 | 37,165 | Teen | Sterek) The infamous Hale House is haunted by memories of the past—in more ways than one.

When a pretty-much-homeless Stiles allows Peter Hale to drag him to shelter on a cold winter night, he KNOWS it's a terrible idea. On the run from his own demons, Stiles is constantly trying to rein in his weird visions of residual hauntings—and in the Hale House, he can't always tell past from present.

Still, he watches Peter wrathfully hunt the guilty party while Derek rebuilds what's lost...and he grows curious about what reallyhappened to the Hale ghosts. And just what that means for the remaining Hales.

Into Eden by GracieBirdie(1/1 | 12,232 | Mature | Steter) Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

The Choices We Make by Theraputic_Steter(1/1 | 8,041 | Teen | Steter) “You’re quite the clever one, aren’t you?” Peter mused, voice like honey.

“I like to think so."

“What’s your name?”

“Stiles.”

Peter smiled slowly, looking like a cat that just caught the canary. “Well hello, Stiles,” he purred, eyes flashing a bloody red.

Stiles grinned victoriously. Viciously.

The hunt was on.

In Pack We Trust by kiranightshade (1/1 | 5,046 | Mature | Steter) Stiles harbors Derek when he's on the run. They talk and they bond and then they find Peter.

Stiles didn't expect to like Peter and he certainly didn't expect to join him.

Touch Therapy by syriala (1/1 | 4,043 | Gen | Steter) “You’re hugging Peter,” Derek said from behind them, confusion very obvious in his voice.

“Yep,” Stiles gave back, not moving from his current position, speaking more into Peter’s hair than anything.

“Why are you hugging him?” Derek asked, and Stiles shrugged as best as he could, with his arms still around Peter.

“He just woke up from a coma. I don’t even want to think about how long he went without a hug,” Stiles gave back.

Or the one where Stiles derails Peter’s plans by aggressively hugging the shit out of him.

twisted measure by Aminias(1/1 | 1,151 | Mature | Steter) The man smirked, and it could have lured angels to sin. Stiles cursed his heart for skipping another step, he blamed it on the flash of fang and crimson eyes. “My niece,” he said.

“That’s sick,” Stiles stated, staring him down, unwilling to look away. Orbs the color of garnet gems with the richness of blood diamonds regarded him in return.

“I don’t see you running.”

Like Recognises Like by MyLittleAngel(1/1 | 1,071 | Gen) For @bethederektomystiles/BeTheDerekToMyStiles random-sentence-prompts over on Tumblr. The inspiration was "You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen."

#teen wolf #sterek #steter #stiles stilinski #derek hale #peter hale #good!peter

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just-a-creep-babe · 1 year

Text

A Demon’s Ache — Part 6

Eyeless Jack x Reader Smut

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss thank you so so much for the support, I appreciate it so! Damn much!! 💖💖

I hope everyone's still enjoying the story ^^ I know it might seem like I'm padding stuff out, but I promise there's a reason for it!! Anyways, I'm entirely open to hearing your genuine thoughts about how things are moving forwards, plz don't be shy to lmk! And I hope yall enjoy this part 6!!

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Check out my Patreon if you’d like to support me!

Masterlist: x

He can’t do it

He knows he’s a coward

But he just can’t face you

He can’t confront you, he doesn’t have it in him

Especially not after what he did outside your door

And since then, whenever he’s seen you walk by, whenever your paths have met, he’s had to turn away because of the guilt and shame fluttering in his chest

Even just this morning, when you offered him a smile as you passed him down the hall, he could barely face you

It looked like you wanted to talk to him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to look you in the eyes, much less have a civilized discussion with you

He’s a fucking coward

You probably think he’s upset with you

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know how to deal with the mess he’s created

So, he eventually resorts to the one person that’s offered any kind of help up until this point

He reaches the familiar clearing lined by the rotting wooden fence

And he almost can’t believe his misfortune when he sees that you’re there—flushed, panting and sweaty, chatting with Hoodie and Masky by the edges of the training ground

That’s right, he remembers you’ve been training with Hoodie recently

He tries to force down the jealousy blooming in his chest like familiar heartache

And he almost turns away to avoid you again

But then Hoodie looks up, and a grin appears on his face at the sight of Jack approaching

The proxy looks back down at you, then nudges his head towards the demon

You turn to look at what he’s gesturing towards

And then Jack locks eyes with you

Fuck

He can’t keep running away from you

He takes in a deep breath to steel his nerves, then keeps walking to join up with the three of you

The two proxies nod at him, and you offer him another smile, similar to the one you gave him earlier today

God, that smile

“Came here to train as well?”

Hoodie’s voice snaps him from his daze

That’s right, he should probably stop staring at you

He clears his throat, tries to act natural

“Yeah,” he lies, and then to sound more believable, he adds, “I figured you could use more practice after I won so easily last time”

Hoodie snorts

“Hey, hey, don’t act like I didn’t get a few good ones in on you”

“You? Land some good hits on him?” Masky suddenly interjects with a sarcastic huff, “c’mon, man, your lies are usually more believable than that”

“Watch it, old man, you’re in no condition to start a fight,” Hoodie playfully threatens his partner with a light kick to his leg, which has Masky grunting in pain

And that’s when Jack finally notices the crutches leaning up against the fence next to Masky

“You fucking—“

Masky makes a move to retaliate, but Hoodie jumps back, and the injured proxy can’t go through with his attack

“What happened?” Jack asks, interrupting them with a nod toward the crutches

“Twisted my fucking ankle,” the proxy answers, shooting a death glare through his mask at his partner, “and then I got a nice little ax jammed into my calf. Damaged some nerves or something, I don’t know”

Jack hums

What would otherwise be a grave injury for a normal human was usually just a minor inconvenience for one of Slender’s proxies

The perks of getting your soul snatched up by a devil, Jack supposes

“You sure you don’t want me to take a look at it?” he offers, but Masky just shakes his head

“I’ll be fine, just sitting these sessions out for now”

“He’s using it as an excuse to take a vacation,” Hoodie teases, and he laughs as Masky fails to attack him again

“You son of a goddamn fucking—“

“Alright, alright, children, break it up”

You move between the two proxies, acting as a barrier to get them to stop annoying one another

Jack feels another pang of jealousy, but he manages to mostly just ignore it

You shake your head, grinning as the two men keep flicking and annoying one another over your smaller form

With a chuckle, you sigh

“Anyways, I’ll let you guys do your workout," you nod at Jack and Hoodie, “I gotta go take a shower”

Jack wants to say something as you’re leaving

He wants to apologize, wants to have the courage to just openly talk about what’s going on between the two of you

But it’s like there’s a disconnect between his brain and his mouth, and he suddenly doesn’t know how to speak

He’s going to have to stand there and watch you leave again

You’re a few feet away when you turn to face him, much to his surprise

“Oh, that’s right,” you say, and Jack’s ears perk up attentively, “we’re thinking about having a campfire in the backyard tomorrow. You in?”

“Of course,” he answers immediately

You smile, and the sight has him feeling all warm inside before he’s reminded of the cruel truth

He can’t trick himself again

Can’t trick himself into believing you’re into him the same way he’s into you

“Great, I’ll see you then!”

And with that, you walk off

He watches you leave, hearing the irregular pattern of his heart beating against his ribcage

He’s only snapped out of it by Hoodie yet again, who walks up behind him and offers a few friendly pats on the back

“Ah, young love~” he snickers

There’s a pause, and then Jack groans, smacking his hand to his face

“Is it that obvious?”

“Obvious?” Masky repeats the word, and Jack looks back at the injured proxy, who folds his thick arms over his chest, “Even an eight-year-old dead kid was able to pick up on it. You’re beyond obvious. You’re hopeless”

Jack groans again, and Hoodie’s condescending back pats do little to console him

“Relax,” Hoodie says, and Jack does not, in fact, relax, “She doesn’t have anything against you, y’know. You guys just need to work something out”

Jack tries not to groan again, just because three in a row seem like a bit much, at this point

“That’s the thing,” he starts, “I just—I can’t. I can’t talk to her. It’s like something gets in the way, or,” he shakes away the very recent memory of what he did in front of your door, “it just never works out”

“Listen, you’re making yourself panic. Just don’t overthink it; she’ll hear you out no matter how much you stumble over your words”

“Which you seem to do a lot around her,” Masky snickers, and whatever’s left of Jack’s confidence deflates just a little bit more

Hoodie shoots Masky a look, but all that does is make him laugh again

“Look man, she invited you to the campfire thing, right? Why don’t you try to talk to her before then? And if that doesn’t work, maybe try to find a way to spend time with her tomorrow morning or something”

Hoodie’s words do little to encourage him

Masky must notice, because he eventually adds, “I say there’s no point in waiting that long. You have something to tell her? Do it now—waiting around will just stress you out even more. You’re not doing yourself any favors by building it up in your head”

There’s a pause as Jack considers his insight

“…Ok. Alright. You’re right, I have to do this”

The demon nods to himself

He’ll just have to bite the proverbial bullet; things won’t get any less awkward between the both of you if he doesn’t do anything about it

And, really, what’s the point of waiting?

“There we go, that’s the attitude,” Hoodie gives him a few more pats on the back, “you got this, man”

When he reaches your room this time, it’s open

He knocks on the open door, calls out your name, but there’s no response

He tried giving you plenty of time to shower and come back, but maybe he’d been too eager and hadn’t waited long enough

The rational thing to do is leave and come back later

But, for some reason, he doesn’t

It’s like he’s pulled into your room, like he can’t stop his instincts from tugging him forwards—a puppet on the strings of his desire

The faint smell of your arousal lingers in the air

He breathes it in, and his abdomen immediately clenches in response

He’s being inappropriate again, he knows it

He shouldn’t be doing this

But fuck, you smell so fucking delicious

He swallows thickly

His thoughts are teetering between wanting to stay and knowing he should leave—especially before you walk in on him

And then his sight lands on a pair of lacy underwear that you left at the foot of your bed

He freezes

He shouldn’t

Christ, he really, really shouldn’t

But he notices the wet patch you’ve left on them, and it’s like he can’t help himself

He pockets them and walks out

There’s a sick sense of guilt clinging to him as he reaches his room

You’d almost think he’d be used to that feeling by now, after all the inappropriate things he’s done

But this feels like he’s just crossed yet another line

Either way, that guilt isn’t strong enough to get him to return the panties to your room

It’s not strong enough to stop him from pulling them out of his pockets and running his fingers over the wet spot at the center

And it’s most certainly not strong enough to stop him from balling them up to his face and inhaling deeply

As soon as he does, he’s done for

His lust overrides any remaining rational thought

Your scent drives him feral

He groans, already drunk off the thought of you

Another deep breath, and he’s practically drooling

It’s no use trying to hold himself back, he’s already a goner

Getting on his bed, he quickly undoes his pants, letting his hard-on spring free, and with his dominant hand, he strokes his erection from the very base all the way to the tip

He grunts, trying to imagine it was you wrapped up around him instead of just his hand

He presses your panties closer to his face, bunching them up, teasing the wet spot at his lips so that he can just barely taste the remnants of your arousal

Friends

Would you still hold that sentiment knowing all the filthy things he does while thinking of you?

He sighs, the sound low and gravelly from somewhere deep within his chest

God, you’re fucking perfect

Everything about you makes him insatiable—it’s like you were made for him, made to torture him with his need

He grinds his hips up into his palm, feeling his cock twitch and throb in response

He imagines you clenching around him, making all those pretty sounds he’s heard you make recently

He breathes in again, another lungful of your scent, and it’s almost too much

He squeezes the tip of his length, and your name escapes him in a husky sigh

His hips wriggle up, pushing more of his length into his hand, and he imagines you on top of him, naked, your back arching as he fills your pretty little cunt up with the entirety of his length

He chokes out another groan, feeling his hips stutter impatiently

When he inhales, more of your scent floods his senses, and that insatiable hunger coils in his stomach until all of his muscles are tensing involuntarily

He’s burning for your touch

He snaps his hips forward, aching cock twitching in his hold, releasing a few more beads of precum at his slit

His tongue traces over the lace of your panties, and when your taste fills his mouth, he groans eagerly

“F-fuck—(y/n)~”

He sounds just about as desperate as he feels

He pumps his length in and out, in and out of his clenched fist until his shaft is slick with precum

He imagines you lapping at his stiff cock, he imagines bending you over and screwing you senseless

The fantasies he’s had countless times before replay in his mind as he uses your panties to help him get off

Knowing your bare cunt was rubbing against the lace not too long ago turns him on more than any kind of porn ever could

It doesn’t even come close

He curses, groaning, his movements growing increasingly rushed and frantic

His mind and body alike are consumed by his desperation

His fingers dig into the delicate material, and if he had any more control over himself, he’d be worried about tearing them

But he’s too far gone to care, too engrossed in the way the pretty lace feels pressing against his face to care about being gentle

When he licks at the wet spot again, he can almost imagine his tongue was buried inside your walls instead

He ruts into his clenched fist, the prominent vein curling along his shaft throbbing with equal impatience

He’s a snarling, groaning mess, jerking himself off like a depraved fucking teenager

He huffs at your panties, breathing you in, letting your scent and taste and even just the thought of you overwhelm him until he snaps

He pushes his hips forwards, his cock twitching and throbbing as he finally cums

His seed dribbles down his shaft, pooling in a mess at his pelvis, but he’s too euphoric to care

He gives a few more languid thrusts into his hand, riding out the high, before eventually stilling

He’s panting, chest heaving, your lace panties still bundled up at his face for him to savor

But it’s just not enough

It’s not the real thing

He won’t be satisfied until he gets you

There’s a brief pause as he lets the endorphins wash over him

And then, as he’s staring up at the ceiling, basking in the aftermath of his high, he thinks, fuck

He really just stole your panties to get himself off

He’s a fucking perv

Swallowing thickly, he tries not to think about your reaction if you ever found out

Instead, he wipes up his mess, going through the leftover box of tissues he keeps by his bedside for times like these

He should probably return your underwear, he realizes

But by this point, you’ve probably finished your shower, and you’re probably back in your room already

He’ll have to return them before tomorrow night, just so that he won’t feel so guilty seeing you at the campfire and knowing he still has them

He sighs to himself

Why does he have to make things so complicated?

Why can’t he just control himself around you?

After obsessing over you for as long as Jack has, the demon has become somewhat familiar with your routine

He knows when you’re least likely to be in your room

Which means he knows the perfect time to sneak in without you seeing him do so

So in the early afternoon the following day, he finds himself back inside your place with relative ease

Surrounded by your things, your various trinkets, clothing and furniture, it has a certain kind of warmth blooming in his chest

Everything in your room is so distinctly you

Not only does your scent mark it as your territory, but the way you’ve set things up, the way you’ve decorated—it’s all so obviously your space

It brings a smile to his lips

He can’t help it; he’s utterly head-over-heels for you

He should just drop off your panties and leave as soon as he can to avoid getting caught

But again, it’s like he’s only pulled deeper into your room

Like he's coaxed into invading your space because he’s too love-drunk and obsessed to stop himself

He notices some of the framed pictures you have scattered around, and he finds himself looking at each and every single one

Some of them are with you and different creeps from the mansion, posing or hanging out at various events

Others have people he doesn’t recognize in them, and he realizes he doesn’t know much about your life before you joined the mansion

He hums, taking one of the framed photos to trace over the outline of your face

You’re grinning at the camera next to someone he doesn’t recognize, your arm thrown over their shoulder

Both of you look like you’re mid-laugh

Your smile’s utterly contagious

His heart swells in his chest

It’s only dampened by the reminder that you don’t feel the same

He sets the picture back down, trying to ignore the bitter sting of unrequited love

Focus, he tells himself

He has to find somewhere to leave your underwear that won’t be obvious they were ever taken in the first place

Next to your door, he spots a hamper for dirty laundry

Bingo

He peeks inside, which in hindsight, he really shouldn’t have

He should’ve just dropped the panties inside, then left without looking back

Because there, amongst various t-shirts and jeans, he sees them—those fucking shorts

The shorts you were wearing when he ate you out, when he fingered you at the kitchen table

He swallows thickly

Twice now

Twice he’s had a sexual encounter with you, and both of those times, you were wearing these shorts

The shorts that hug your ass so perfectly, that show off just the right amount of thigh

He wonders if they still carry your scent

He can only imagine they do

Tentative hands reach out to them

He feels the fabric against his fingertips, and he’s reminded of the way your skin had felt against his knuckles when he’d stroked over your leg

He can’t do it, he realizes, he can’t return your underwear

It’s all he has of you

It’s all he can use when he’s aching for you

Would taking the shorts be too far?

In a split-second decision, instead of taking your shorts, he takes another pair of panties that’d been tossed into the hamper

Just like the first pair, he stuffs these in his pockets, then quickly walks out of your room

He’ll return them, he thinks, he’ll definitely return them eventually

He’s just not ready to return them just yet

Thankfully, no one catches him leaving your room

And he’s so, so close to reaching the sanctuary of his own room when, much to his mortification, he hears you calling out to him

He freezes in his tracks, his hand just barely hovering over his doorknob

“Oh, hey Jack, I was looking for you!”

He can barely look you in the eyes as he turns to face you when you approach him, but hopefully, you don’t notice anything suspicious through the cover of his mask

“About the campfire I mentioned—“ you pause, looking at him

It’s like the underwear are burning in his pockets

“Yeah?” he asks, trying not to flinch at how the guilt so obviously seeps through his voice

“I know I said it was supposed to be tonight, but we’re pushing it to tomorrow because it’s raining”

When he doesn’t say anything, because he just doesn’t know what to say, you hesitate

“…Is that alright? Do you still think you’ll join?”

He nods

He feels like a deer in headlights

“A-alright, well… I guess I’ll see you then”

He nods again

You seem to hesitate again, like there’s more you want to tell him

But then you turn and leave

And as soon as you do, he opens the door and quickly closes it shut behind him

He was supposed to return your panties

Not steal another pair

He’s only gone and made things worse yet again

What the fuck is wrong with him?

#creepypasta #eyeless Jack #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta x reader #eyeless Jack x reader smut

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sheepiemc · 8 months

Text

Seven Stupid Reasons to Summon a Demon

Reason #1: lonely

It was a day that started like any other.

Your alarm went off (like always).

You got ready for work (like always).

You commuted (like always).

You did your job for four hours (like always).

Then, it was time for lunch.

Normally, you opt to stay inside “the office” (or wherever it is that you work) and bring something from home to save money. But looking at your lunch — the same thing you eat almost every day — makes you sigh.

You look out the window to the city down below. It was a gloomy morning, but now that it is midday, the sun is starting to shine through the clouds. A beam of sunlight lands on your skin and you enjoy the warmth. The ring on your finger catches the light and you look down at it.

How ridiculous would it be to summon a demon to have lunch with you because you don’t want to eat alone? You banish the thought from your mind. You don’t want to disturb the demon you were thinking of; you are certain he has a lot on his plate (like always) and he wouldn’t appreciate being bothered with something so trivial (like always).

You sigh and look outside again. Maybe the fresh air will do you some good. You decide to spend your lunch break walking around downtown just because you can. Honestly, you don’t know why you don’t do this more often. You can find a lot of hidden gems this way.

You wander around aimlessly before you happen upon a record store. It's just a little hole-in-the-wall place, mostly unassuming. When you step in, however, you're greeted by a music-lover's paradise. Multi-colored vinyl records, signed band posters, and album covers decorate the walls. The atmosphere is groovy and retro, speaking to a bygone era of funk and flower power. There’s even a disco ball hanging from the ceiling! You take in the scenery for a moment as you stand in the doorway.

“‘Sup.” The guy behind the counter greets you without looking up. “If there’s anything you need help with or want to listen to let me know.” You nod, even though he isn’t looking at you, and go to explore the stacks.

Your fingertips brush past rows and rows of records. You search all your favorite genres, looking out for your favorite bands, and find some gems. You don’t have a lot of money right now, so you can’t go crazy. You twist the ring on your finger as you contemplate what to get.

Actually, now that you think about it…

Maybe you can find something to add to your “special collection”.

See, you were inspired by a certain demon to develop a “cursed” record collection of your own. Since cursed magical items are hard to come by on earth, whenever you find yourself in a place that sells records, you like to check out the classical music section for albums that feature, or are inspired by the devil. It's something you like to share with him and only him. After shuffling through the stacks, you find something you think will work. You smile impishly to yourself, proud of your new purchase.

You make it through the rest of the workday thinking about the record. You aren't going to listen to it just yet; you like to share the experience with the devil himself. It's a good excuse to summon him from the Devildom — well, good enough for you anyway. You like to have a few more albums to listen to before you call him, so you don't feel as guilty for asking him to stay a bit longer.

You take a deep breath when you finally arrive in your quiet room, in your now-still apartment. You place the record on top of the others and take a look around — empty, except for your cat, sleeping peacefully on your bed. You could invite friends over to fill the silence, but your friends are notoriously terrible at last-minute plans. You absentmindedly twist the ring on your finger.

You need something to fill this oppressive quiet, your fingers itch and ache, you have to DO something.

You have to play the piano.

You go out to your living room, where you keep a digital piano. It’s a little fancier than a regular old keyboard but you live in a small apartment and you're not exactly rolling in it so it's the best you can do.

The room is dark.

You hate the silence.

You sit at the bench and flex your fingers, hovering above the black and white keys. No sheet music, right now you just need to play your emotions. You play a low note and listen to it reverberate.

Then a chord.

Then another.

You close your eyes and start improvising a melancholic melody over a haunting chord progression. You are so lost in what you’re creating you don't notice the blue light flooding the dark room. It’s gone almost as soon as it arrived and it brings with it a figure covered in shadow, a figure you also don’t notice. He stands tall in the center of your room, tilting his head to the side as he listens. Once he gathers what happened intuitively, he stands over you, proudly watching you pour your potent emotions into your playing.

You strike a final chord and exhale loudly, ruminating on the final note. You gasp lightly when a teardrop you didn't notice falls from your face onto the keys.

You nearly jump out of your skin when another chord is struck up the piano. The shadow figure reveals himself to be the very demon you were thinking about while playing. Lucifer doesn't look at you as he continues to play a lighter melody. Your hands jump away from the keys and press against the rapidly beating heart in your chest.

He continues to play, not yet sitting. His sketch sounds hopeful, almost as if to say, "I'm glad to have you with me again." He sneaks a glance at you and smirks, finally taking a seat on the bench next to you. You just watch him, absolutely mesmerized, still in shock that he's really in front of you.

He stops playing and looks at the keys closest to you, a signal — it's your turn again. Your melody is more playful than moody this time, there's a lightness now that wasn’t there before. Lucifer responds with something firm and grounded. When it's your turn, you tickle your way closer to his side. He gets lower, too. You scoot closer. From the corner of your eye, you see him smile a little bit wider. In the middle of his turn, you start playing again and together you improvise a beautiful, colorful piece of music together, full of happiness and longing, celebrating each other.

When you can’t contain your excitement any longer, you interrupt the song and throw your arms around him. The force of you throwing your entire body weight at him only pushes him over slightly — he’s quick to catch you in his arms, twisting his torso to face you.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say into his neck. It comes out as barely a whisper.

You feel more than hear the chuckle rumble in his chest. “You’re the one who summoned me here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t do it on purpose?”

He looks at the keys on the digital piano. “Something was calling out to me.”

“I guess I’ve been kinda lonely today… And I was thinking about you… A lot…”

Lucifer hums contentedly, stern lines on his face smoothing out. Obviously, he likes it when you stroke his ego.

You roll your eyes playfully and bury your face in his neck again. “I’m sorry for summoning you by accident, I know you're very busy but…” You play with his tie. “Can you stay here a bit, with me?”

Lucifer sighs softly. You steel yourself for the words you're sure will come out of his mouth, “I can’t” or “Not right now”.

“MC, I don’t think you realize that I want to see you just as much as, if not more so than, you want to see me.” He traces his finger along your jaw and lifts your chin so that you're looking at him. “If I’ve made you think I feel otherwise, that is my fault and I must apologize.”

You feel your heart skip a beat when the Avatar of Pride apologizes to you, a lowly human. You’re in such a state of shock, you don’t know what to say so Lucifer continues to fill the silence. “If I had the ability to summon you to my side whenever I wanted, I can’t say I wouldn’t abuse that power greatly.”

His hand rests at the side of your face, thumb wiping another tear you didn’t even know fell. You got so used to that rowdy house in the Devildom, so full of people and chaos, that coming home to your quiet, little one-bedroom apartment in the human world every day has been wearing you down. More tears start to flow as the weight of your loneliness comes crashing down on you.

You hold him tighter and press your face into his shoulder, hiding in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess,” you say, laughing.

He chuckles. “Don’t apologize. I appreciate all aspects of you. Even when you are a mess.”

You sit on the piano bench for what you wish was all eternity but is likely only about 10 minutes before you reluctantly untangle yourself from the demon you unwittingly called to this realm.

“Well, since you're here…” You stand, pull him from the bench, and lead him to your bedroom… where you keep your records! You present him with the newest addition to your collection with a wide smile.

He takes it from your hands and looks at the cover thoughtfully. He reads the title out loud, “The Mephisto Waltz & Other 'Satanic' Piano Music Of Franz Liszt - John Ogdon”.

He looks back at you. “Interesting,” he says in the most uninterested tone. You laugh out loud, you thought he might like that.

“Well, if you don’t want to listen to it, I can just-” You reach for the record but he pulls it out of your reach.

“I never said that.”

He walks over to your record player and carefully sets it up while you sit on the edge of your bed. When the music starts up, you're surprised by how fast-paced it is but you're still into it. Luci looks at your desk chair meaningfully then back at you. You scowl and shake your head slightly, tapping the edge of the bed next to you. He smiles and sits down beside you.

You lean against him, sneakily snaking your arms around his middle, and play with one of his hands.

You feel him relax, almost imperceptibly, leaning into your touch. He chuckles, and softly says under his breath, “This brings back memories.”

He closes his eyes and you lift your head to stare at him, left wondering whatever the hell he meant by that. You would ask, but he loves to be intentionally vague whenever you bring up his involvement in the lives of humans from the past.

"This isn't what I thought this song would be," you quietly admit as you play with his gloved fingers.

"Oh?"

"It's called a waltz, so I thought, you know, we would be able to dance to it…"

"You wish to dance with me?" He says in a teasing tone, one that makes your face feel hot.

"WELL, I JUST THOUGHT-"

"That would be fairly amusing…" He says, almost more to himself than to you.

He uses his free hand to lift your chin up so that you're looking at him. If your face wasn't red before, it definitely is now.

"It was a silly idea, we don't-"

"No, no. I believe I would like to dance with you as well."

His smile is rather wolfish as he stands from your bed and pulls you up along with him. The next song on the record starts and it isn't very apt for a dance, either.

"The music-" You begin to protest before Lucifer snaps his finger and the record begins to glow with a blue light. A record scratch abruptly interrupts the music when Chopin's Waltz in A minor, B. 150 starts to flow through the speaker.

He pulls your body to the proper position, one hand on your waist, the other cradling yours. Of course, he'll lead. You roll your eyes playfully.

"Do you remember how to do this?" He asks, amused.

"Pshh, of course I do," you say right before accidentally stepping on his foot. "Oop, sorry."

He chuckles. "Follow my lead."

And you do. You dance around your little room, only stepping on him a few more times before you get the hang of it again. ("It's been a long time, okay??") You twirl and pivot, avoiding tiny obstacles around your room, laughing when you attempt to take the lead by spinning him out and back into your arms.

He finishes the dance by lifting you by the waist and spinning around. You giggle uncontrollably, feeling lighter than you have in months. When he brings you back down, you lace your hands together behind his neck and put your head on his shoulder. The music shifts to something soft that you can slow dance to. His arms tighten around your waist, holding you close as you sway together.

“I really needed this,” you say. “I’ve missed you guys so much.”

You feel him stiffen slightly at the remark. You smile to yourself, delighted that something so small could affect him.

You look up at him, “I’ve missed you most, of course.”

He smiles down at you and the affection you see in his eyes is so genuine, it embarrasses you. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, MC.”

You look down to hide your quickly reddening face. “I wish I could summon you more often but I know you’re very busy. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucifer hums, as if he has to think hard about what he was doing before this, “I believe I was in a meeting with Lord Diavolo.”

“Lord Diavolo!?” Your eyes widen with panic. You push yourself away to look him straight in his face, hoping he’s just teasing you.

His wolfish grin returns as he smooths down a lock of hair that is out of place on your head. “Yes, but it was one of those frivolous meetings he likes to trick me into. ‘Oh, Lucifer, you must try this bottle of Demonus I found in the depths of the labyrinthine cellar.’ Nothing truly important, I promise.”

Relief quickly washes over you and you relax back into his embrace. “So... I get to keep you a little longer?”

“Tonight?” His hold around you tightens. “You may keep me as long as you wish.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer fluff #originally posted on ao3 #i was 100% imagining the corpse bride piano duet #op #fic

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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*sigh* incubus reader pulling jeremiah out of the microwave and into the empty corridors of the church for an impromptu dance before dipping him and leaving before the old man can get a proper kiss

"Mr. Priest~ Spend time with me, won't you? I'm bored to tears."

"Mhm." Jeremiah pays you little mind as he snuffs out varying candles, pausing to stroke your horns as your paths cross. "Patience, my dear. You will have more of my time than you know what to do with soon."

You groan. This man converts your last meal into a member of his weird cult, forces them to break contract with you, and creates one of his own only to never have any fun. Sure he threatened to slaughter your entire race for not complying, but honestly that feels like the better option in opposite to this bore of a nightmare.

"But I wanna play now. The souls you give are nice, but I'm wasting away here."

You hop off the bench you whine upon, snaking your hands around Jeremiah's neck as you jump on his back. "Just think about all the things we can do. You may not be human anymore, but I know your desires. I've seen you undressing me with those eyes of yours... As if you playing keep away with me and your flock isn't clue enough for how obsessed you are with me."

Jeremiah swallows hard as your fangs nip his earlobe; claws caught in the chain of his cross. A self made man of the God shouldn't give into such temptations, but Jeremiah now had his own ways regarding worship. Still, he could not submit to you just yet for he still needed to rewrite the wrongs of his fallen Lord and remake the world into a place worthy of your combined grace.

Being a holy disciple truly was the greatest burden to bare.

"Just hold on a little longer for me...." Jeremiah kisses the back of your hand before ripping himself free of your hold. He walks over to a record player and grabs a vinyl from a crate on the floor.

"Enjoy some music until I am done."

You try your best to, but even the man's taste in music is boring. Some classical piece better fit for a ball rather than a technical date between a demon and a priest. You tap your foot along to the rhythm for an attempt at find some solace in the beat, a devilish grin working up your face as an idea pops into mind.

You creep up behind Jeremiah.

"Y/n, I said wait- What? What on earth are you doing? Let go."

You tug on the collar of his robes as you grip his shoulder, spinning him around to face you. The look on tour face makes his decrepit heart flutter, and anxiety levels to rise. You place an arm behind his back and grab hold of his wrist as you twirl across the floor to the center of the room.

Jeremiah hisses. "Y/n this is not funny. I am a very busy man."

"Aw, come on. I've been around for a couple hundred years and with whatevers going on with you you'll be here for a while too. Live a little."

You wrap your tail around his waist to prevent him from escaping, chest bumped up against his. The close proximity leaves Jeremiah with little choice but to subcome to your influence- nor does his will. He follows your lead as your steps slow and steady into a waltz.

"See? Now you're getting into it."

"Quiet." Jeremiah rests his hand on the curve of your spine and completely shuts off any distance between you; your laughter the sweet cry of angels as it plays in his ear. A little tame compared to what you orginally had in mind, but it wasn't so bad. You slow dance together for a while until the devil in you decides to have some more fun.

You lead Jeremiah near the benches before securing your hand on the center of his back and twisting your tail down to his calf to further throw him off balance as you drip him low. You stare into each other's eyes; your body guiding his into the seat before you mount the man as you work your fingers into his bleached locks. He closes his eyes as you drawn in, his reward for his obedience a single lick.

"See you later, Jeremiah."

The weight disappears from his lap and you from his sight as he opens his eyes. Jeremiah growls in frustration.

"Y/n? Y/n, get back here at once!"

No response - your giggles echoing from a far corner of the church. Jeremiah follows the sound of your voice. By the time he's done with you, hell would be a paradise you'd never see again.

#Jeremiah my oc #Yandere priest #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere imagines #demon reader #Incubus reader #yandere drabble

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